


Living Together 101

by strangeallure



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF, The Mirror Has Two Faces (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Professors, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Professors, Road Trips, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Jared wants to keep his New York apartment, he needs to find a roommate. If he wants to get tenured, he needs to publish more. Jensen, who's also teaching at Columbia, seems like a perfect fit: easy-going and responsible, but also quiet and unassuming. When they become friends, it's a bonus. When they pretend to be a couple, it seems like a great idea – until it all falls apart.<br/>Loosely based on the Barbra Streisand/Jeff Bridges schmoop fest The Mirror Has Two Faces.</p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	Living Together 101

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the spn_j2_bigbang challenge. A big thank you to the mods for doing a great job as well as to my incredible artist, yuan_fen, for being so excited about the fic and creating truly amazing art. The art masterpost has beautiful (slightly spoiler-y) scene illustrations as well as headers, icons, banners and a completely delightful movie poster. Go leave yuan_fen some well-deserved love on her [amazing art](http://yuan-fen.livejournal.com/4506.html).
> 
> Thanks go to dugindeep for helping me finish this story and for alpha reading and encouragement.
> 
> I’d also like to pledge my eternal soul to the amazing scintilla10, beta reader extraordinaire, whose comments, suggestions and questions helped make this fic so much better than it was. _Mare-cee, mon uh-mee._
> 
> First posted on LJ in June 2012.

"I hate you. So much," Jared mumbles, his voice low and thick with sleep.

"Hey, Jared, baby, don’t be like that," the guy on the other end of the line croons. He sounds disgustingly cheerful – and extremely drunk.

"It’s the middle of the night. I'm sleeping – or I was until you woke me up, you moron.“

"It’s not even midnight, pretty princess," the caller slurs, a slightly petulant note in his voice.

"Yeah, in L.A. it’s not," Jared rubs the side of his head against the pillow. "I’m on the east coast, for god’s sake. That’s a three hour time difference."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _Oh_." Jared feels himself roll his eyes behind his mostly-closed eyelids. "So what do you want, Chad?"

"Uh," Chad sounds a little more sober and almost contrite now. "Just checking in, see what you're up to." A sly, very unsubtle smirk creeps into Chad's voice. "Making sure you’re getting laid."

Jared groans. He knows that, in Chad's own weird way, this means he cares for Jared’s well-being, that he wants to make sure Jared's all right. "Can we do that another time?"

"Sure," Chad says, only to ask a moment later, "But you did, right? Get laid, I mean?" The drunken concern in Chad's voice would probably be funny if Jared wasn’t so tired.

"After all these years, your investment in my sex life is still a little disconcerting, just so you know." When Chad doesn't reply, Jared decides to just get this over with quickly. " _Yes, Chad, I did get laid._ Don't you worry." And because Chad’s going to ask for details anyway, Jared adds a few. "Sweet and bendy yoga instructor last month and," he wants to say "some guy", but then, just to pay Chad back a little, he decides to go with, "a really hot, totally hung guy I met at a club."

Chad coughs and his voice sounds slightly indignant when he says, "I did not need to know that, Padalecki."

"He had such a sweet little ass, too," Jared adds, smirking.

"Okay, okay. I get it," Chad placates. "You still have your mojo. Good for you." 

Suddenly, there’s a drunk cackle in Jared’s ear, and he knows from experience that Chad just cracked himself up with some stupid innuendo he's about to share with Jared. "You know what they're going to call you?"

Jared braces himself for the worst. "What?"

"The Slutty Professor." Chad makes a wet laughing sound.

"Very witty, Chad, really." Jared just shakes his head. "I'm hanging up now."

And that's what he does.

It takes a lot of willpower for Jared to drag himself out of bed and go on his morning run the next day. Usually, he’s pretty good at going right back to sleep when something – or someone – wakes him up, but this time, he tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. He thinks that once he’s in Central Park and has hit his stride, those thoughts will go away. It’s one of the things he likes about running: that he doesn’t have to think and can be completely in the moment as his muscles work, his lungs expand and contract and his footfalls send a steady rhythm through his body.

Only it doesn’t work this time.

Instead, it’s like Chad’s stupid joke put Jared’s mind in a tailspin, and he can’t get the phrase _Slutty Professor_ out of his head. Jared had a long-term girlfriend in high school and then exactly one hook-up with a guy his freshman year before he met his future wife. At that point, he was happy – with her, their life, their sex life, everything. In over ten years, he was never genuinely tempted to sleep with someone else. 

Ever since the divorce, though, he’s been going out several nights a week, drinking and dancing and flirting and hooking up when the opportunity presents itself. He likes sex and he likes that people find him sexy enough, attractive enough, to take him home without even knowing who he is. Still, if he’s honest with himself, it’s not like Jared loves his life as it is right now. And that admission only gets him thinking about all the other things that haven’t really worked out like he had planned.

Damn Chad.

Jared tries hard to focus on the 9am class he’s teaching, but he still finds his thoughts wandering back to his private problems. Right after class lets out, Jared calls Chad – and it's only a little to pay him back for waking Jared up this morning.

"What?" Chad's voice sounds dry-mouthed and barely conscious, and Jared can't help the small, satisfied smile forming on his face. 

"Good morning, Chad. Rise and shine," he says sunnily.

"Bite me," Chad mutters.

Jared takes a breath and says, "I need to talk with you."

"Like, really?" Chad sounds skeptical. "Or just to get back at me for last night?"

"Really," Jared says more earnestly than he intended.

And that's the thing about Chad. He's an idiot sometimes, sure, but when Jared really needs him, he’s there. 

Chad already sounds a little more awake when he says, "I'll get some coffee in me and grab a shower. Call you in twenty, okay?"

"You know I didn’t mean it like that?" Chad asks after Jared explains his problem.

"I know you didn’t," Jared says. "It just got me thinking. And the thing is, you’re right, in a way; I _am_ becoming The Slutty Professor." 

Chad unsuccessfully tries to hide a chuckle. He obviously still thinks that phrase is hilarious. "But that just means a lot of people want to have sex with you, Jared. Most people would consider that a good thing."

"I just-" Jared sighs. "I’m not in college anymore, you know? I’m in my thirties. I should network more. I should definitely publish more if I want to get tenured. I feel like since-" he pauses and knows it’s ridiculous that he still can’t say it out loud. "Since I came here, I’ve been resting on my laurels when it comes to my job – and my finances – and otherwise mostly just treading water."

Chad sounds disturbingly adult when he says, "I know you pictured your life to be different, Jared. I know you thought you’d be together forever, start a family and all that." Jared appreciates that Chad doesn’t use her name, which only makes him feel more pathetic. "But the divorce was over two years ago. Maybe it’s just time to get back in the game – try to get to know people first instead of trying to get in their pants." Chad chuckles at his own joke. 

Jared knows that he wanted to talk to the reasonable version of Chad when he called, but now he’s not sure that was the best idea. "I can’t, Chad," he says, "not yet." Because sure, the divorce was two years ago, but they’d been married ten years, been together even longer than that. It just doesn’t feel right.

"There’s another problem," he says, and it’s only a little to change the topic. "I might have to sell the apartment."

"What?" Chad asks, voice serious. "Are you sure? I mean, I’m not an expert, but the housing market isn’t doing so great right now."

Jared sighs. It’s another thing that has been gnawing at him this morning. "I think so," he says. "That patent money I got from GM was enough for the down payment and a bit of a buffer, but when I bought the place, I calculated with two incomes, you know?"

Chad hums in acknowledgement.

"And going out in New York?" Jared forces a laugh into his voice, but it doesn’t come out quite right. "That’s getting really expensive, really fast." He swallows. "I’ve been eating into my savings for a while now." It’s the first time he’s told anyone, and abruptly it feels more real.

"I could lend you some money," Chad says immediately.

"No," Jared shakes his head, even though Chad can’t see him. "I still have enough for, I don’t know, half a year. More if I cut down on the clubbing and stuff." He takes a deep breath. "I appreciate the offer, though. Thanks, Chad."

For a long minute or two, neither of them says anything, but then, Chad makes a triumphant sound. "I think I’ve got it," he says.

"Got what?" 

"A solution to your problem," Chad says.

"I’m listening."

There’s a note of pride in Chad’s voice. "You should get a roommate," he says like it’s a revelation.

"What?"

"I think it all circles back to you not wanting to be alone, but you’re also not ready for a new relationship." Chad says, and damn, he really can be perceptive when he wants to be. "So you should find yourself a roommate – someone who’s nice, _not_ hot and a homebody, if possible. Then the apartment won’t be empty when you come home, and you’ll have someone to talk to. Not to mention the extra cash."

It doesn’t sound bad in theory. For New York standards, Jared has a pretty big place, so they wouldn’t get in each other’s way, but he’s actually pondered the option before and dismissed it. He doesn’t want to live with someone he doesn’t know. "But I don’t want to interview a thousand weirdos from Craigslist, you know. I mean, I can’t just move in with _anybody_ , it would have to be a good fit."

"Isn’t there a," Chad pauses to think for a moment, "a bulletin board or an intranet thing for the faculty or something." Jared grips the phone a little tighter. This ‘I have all the answers’ version of Chad is starting to get a little annoying. "The semester just started, right? Someone must still be looking for a place to stay."

Jared is about to wave off the suggestion, telling Chad that Columbia offers faculty housing, when he remembers something. "Yeah," he says, "there’s this faculty-only newsletter," which Jared only ever skims, but anyway, "and I think they have a section with people offering places and looking for roommates."

"See, see." Chad’s clearly excited. "Sounds like a good place to start."

Jared inhales and then says earnestly. "Thanks, Chad. You’re a good friend."

"I know," Chad says, and it doesn’t even sound smug.

Ten days later, Jared’s not sure about Chad’s qualities as a friend anymore. He’s received fifteen calls leading to seven interviews at his apartment, and after he's met with the first five applicants, Jared’s had more than enough. It’s not that every single candidate was a complete nutcase – not as bad as the woman with the pet snake around her neck, at least, or the anthropology fellow with the Feng Shui compass. But none of those people really felt right, and Jared can’t imagine sharing his space with any one of them. Serves him right for listening to Chad.

He thinks about phoning the last two people on his list to call the whole thing off when his phone buzzes with a text message. Mark, the history lecturer, can’t make it after all, but he wants to call Jared tonight and set up a new time. Just when Jared slides the phone back into his pocket, the doorbell rings. At least the last guy for the day is on time – that’s already a better start than with most of the others.

Jared gets the intercom and tells him to come up to the sixth floor. The building doesn’t have an elevator, so he gets two bottles of water from the fridge, sets them on the kitchen island and waits.

The guy who comes through the door a few minutes later is huffing and puffing a little, clearly not used to so many stairs. Though it’s hard to tell under his baggy corduroy pants and equally loose-fitting shirt-and-sweater-vest combo, he looks a little chubby. His face is slightly red with exertion and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. Which amounts to most of what Jared can see of the guy's face since the lower half of it is covered by a beard and the upper half is partly obscured by chunky brown glasses - and they are clearly not a hipster fashion statement at all.

The guy extends his hand and smiles. "Hi, I’m Jensen. Jensen Ackles."

"Just to get this out of the way: You’re not homophobic, right?" Jared asks after he finishes showing Jensen around the apartment and they’ve discussed the basics like sharing the kitchen, living room and bathroom, setting up a cleaning roster and things like rent and the deposit. Jared’s not someone who likes to wave his sexuality in other people’s faces, but after the weird remark that biochemistry lecturer made earlier, he thinks it’s better to bring it up. He likes Jensen, is surprised how much he likes a guy who seems so unassuming and maybe a little boring at first glance, but homophobia would be a definitive deal-breaker.

Jensen raises one eyebrow, obviously surprised by the question, and then he smiles in a way that seems completely genuine. "No, I’m definitely not homophobic." There’s a quirk at the corner of his mouth. "Although I should probably warn you: before I’ve had my first cup of coffee in the morning, I tend to be a little people-phobic."

Jared grins. "I can live with that."

Then, just to get everything out in the open, Jared adds, "I’m just making sure. I’m bi, you know, and I don’t want to find out my roommate’s not okay with that when he starts making derogatory comments while I watch Queer as Folk reruns or something."

"That could be awkward," Jensen agrees, still smiling easily. 

Somehow, Jared feels the need to clarify. "It’s not like I’m watching ‘gay’ programming all the time." He makes actual air quotes around the word ‘gay’ and hates himself a little for it. "I hardly ever do. Okay, sometimes I watch RuPaul’s Drag Race, too, but that’s it. And maybe Drag U, but that’s pretty much the same thing."

Jensen chuckles. "Don’t worry. My current roommate watches the _here!_ network all the time, even though she’s straight." Jensen shakes his head slightly. "As long as you keep your hands out of your pants in the living room, we’re going to be fine."

Jared splutters a little. "Uh, yeah. No need to worry about that." Jensen’s wearing an _argyle_ sweater vest, for god’s sake – how come he’s so casual about this and Jared, who wouldn’t be seen dead in an outfit like Jensen’s, by the way, because he has amazing fashion sense, is the one fumbling around? "And it’s not like I’ll bring someone home all the time or anything. I’m not really interested in that at the moment. I’m trying to get a tenured position, so I’m focusing more on my publications."

If Chad could hear him, he’d die laughing. Jared kind of wants to shake himself. There’s no need for him to explain himself like that. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t want Jensen to think he sleeps around. His inner Chad chokes on that thought, but Jensen just nods and says, "Oh, you, too? I’m also tenure track, trying to up my research output. I’m not sure what it’s like in the natural sciences, but in the humanities it’s pretty brutal. If your publication list isn’t long enough to have decimated at least an oak tree, you’re out."

Jared smiles, thankful for the change of topic. "Yeah. They say the tenure decision is based on research _quality_ , but there’s a certain ratio where they divide the number of your publications by your age, and if you don’t make it, they won’t even bother looking at your projects."

"Publish or perish," Jensen says. "It’s trite but true."

Jared nods, feeling more and more like Jensen is someone he could actually enjoy having around.

He takes a sip from his water bottle. 

"Okay, next question, Jensen. Tell me a secret about you. Something embarrassing, if possible," he grins, "but definitely something I’m bound to find out anyway once we live together."

Jared used this question on the other applicants with mixed results. The guy with long, blond hair, who spoke in a constant whisper, told Jared that he wanted to set up a workbench in his room because he was building St. Andrew’s crosses on the side. It wasn’t even as big a surprise as it probably should have been. Manda, on the other hand, late 30s, no-nonsense and fun while not too attractive, who had been on the top of his list until that point, had shocked him a little with her Sunday morning ritual involving U2 on repeat and a trampoline. And the guy from Poland hadn’t really understood the question, but then, Jared strongly doubted he’d got more than ten percent of the whole conversation.

Now he just hopes that Jensen has an answer that won’t disqualify him.

Jensen blushes a little, tilts his head and rubs at his neck. Uh-oh. 

"I," he smiles apologetically, "I like playing computer games on my Xbox. Mainly first-person shooters like Halo." He gives a small shrug. "The type of games they warn you about on Fox News." He says it like it could be a deal breaker. "But I’d do that in my own room of course, don’t worry. I won’t take over your couch and flat-screen."

"That’s your biggest secret," Jared asks, "playing Halo on your Xbox?" He gets up.

"I didn’t say it was my biggest secret," Jensen clarifies. "I just know it’s not what you’d expect from someone teaching English lit because it’s not very … adult. But it helps me relax. I really enjoy it." His eyes follow Jared as he walks over to his plasma TV. 

Jared pulls out a big wicker basket from the sideboard underneath the screen and holds up one of his Xbox controllers. "You just dramatically increased your chances of getting the room."

Jensen smiles and Jared feels himself smiling, too.

"Okay," Jared says, "I have one final question: Why would you want to live here?"

"Well," Jensen thinks for a moment, "the location is great, obviously. So close to Central Park and the subway – I could be at work in half an hour, which is amazing. Especially since I have almost two hours commute from Ronkonkoma right now." Ah yeah, Jensen had said he lived really far out on Long Island.

"Two hours one way? That sucks," Jared says sympathetically.

"You know it," Jensen replies before he goes on. "I really like the apartment, too, both the layout and the room – even though the stairs will probably kill me within the first week." He gives Jared a self-deprecating grin. 

"And I like you, actually. I think it’s good that you want a cleaning roster but don’t think we should label our food, because that would be a little excessive for me. We seem to have some things in common, and I think we could get along pretty well."

Jared thinks he’s finished when Jensen adds, "Also, your TV would be perfect for the occasional Halo marathon - and having that coffee maker I saw in the kitchen at my disposal could save me significant amounts of money."

"Oh yeah," Jared grins. "The only cure for your people-phobia in the morning, I remember." 

Jensen smiles. "If I get to move in with you and that baby, Starbucks share prices will plummet."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Jared snorts. "I haven’t gotten a single cup of coffee out of this ‘baby’ in the past three years." 

Jensen shoots him a questioning look. 

"My-" Jared stops himself. _My ex-wife bought it._ Funny, even after two years, he still can’t say it. It’s ridiculous. "Uh, it came with the apartment. That thing is so complicated, if you could even make it give you hot water, you’d be a hero." 

Jensen gives him a look that’s almost mischievous, quickly gets up and walks towards the fridge. "Don’t let it be said that I won’t rise to a challenge."

He opens the door and pulls out a carton of milk. Shaking the carton in Jared’s direction, he asks, "You don’t mind, do you?"

Jared grins. "Knock yourself out."

Jensen continues raiding Jared’s cupboards for the ground French roast Jared usually uses with his regular coffee maker – and which is the only thing able to wake him up after a late night out when he has to teach an early class the next morning. Then Jensen pulls out the big ceramic mugs Jared’s mom gave him as a moving-out present when he first left for college. A few minutes later, the machine has completed its cleaning cycle – Jared didn’t even know it had one – and Jensen’s made sure it’s still fully functional. Jared is already impressed, but he’s holding out for the second run. He’s determined not to say anything before there’s actual coffee.

Once Jensen is finished, he turns around with a flourish, holding the two mugs in his hands triumphantly. "Et voilà," he says. "Here’s your cappuccino."

"Et voilà? Not that I pride myself on my language abilities or anything, but isn’t cappuccino Italian?" Jared asks, taking the cup before Jensen can snatch it away.

Jensen just rolls his eyes. "It’s made with _French_ roast. I’d say the authenticity boat has already sailed. Now shut up and drink your coffee."

Jared does – and it’s good, hot, flavorful and with a cap of delicious foam on top. "That’s some decent coffee," he concedes and Jensen grins, wiping some foam from his beard. 

"Yeah," Jensen agrees. "Thank god you had some quality coffee powder. Although it would be even better with whole beans freshly ground. And, a roast that’s, you know, actually Italian."

In spite of the high-quality coffee, Jared can’t resist teasing him a little. "So, the situation is that bad in the humanities? You have to moonlight as baristas these days?"

Jensen snorts. "I would be offended, but coming from an applied physicist who can’t even get a simple coffee maker to work, somehow, it doesn’t sting so much."

Jared gapes at him, but then has to laugh. "Hey!" Jensen isn’t really behaving like this is an interview where Jared’s the one supposedly calling the shots. It’s more fun this way, Jared has to admit. Before he can come up with a smart comeback, Jensen beats him to it. "You know, I’ll up my bid for the room right now and tell you that I can screw in light bulbs and hammer nails into walls, too. I have a feeling you could really use someone practical around the house."

"Says the English literature guy," Jared shakes his head. "I don’t even believe it."

"The world’s a strange place," Jensen agrees, taking another sip, "but at least there’s coffee."

They make a few minutes of small talk as they finish their mugs before Jensen gets up. He puts his cup into the sink and gives it a quick rinse, then he turns to Jared, who stood up as well, and extends his hand. 

"Jared, it was good meeting you, really. I think I’d like to move in here – and not just for the coffee."

"Yeah," Jared replies easily as they head towards the door, "my plasma TV is awesome, too."

"Exactly," Jensen shows two rows of perfect white teeth as he smiles. "You have my number and everything, so …" He shrugs. "Bye." 

"Have a good one," Jared says before closing the door behind Jensen.

As he turns back towards the kitchen, he has short flashbacks of snake girl, trampoline woman, animal rights guy and Aidan the BDSM carpenter. He thinks about the one other applicant he hasn’t seen yet, who cancelled last minute and wasn’t even sure he could make it this weekend at all. 

The truth is, he likes Jensen. The guy is surprisingly fun, easy to talk to, seems clean enough, but not antiseptic – and he makes great coffee. Not to mention the fact that he’s into Halo.

Quickly, Jared opens the door and peeks down the stairwell. He doesn’t see a hand on the handrail, but there’s some movement a couple of floors beneath him, so he shouts out, "Jensen?"

Jensen moves in on a Saturday, and a couple of his friends come over to help carry his furniture and moving boxes. Since Jared’s home anyway and six flights of stairs with no elevator can't be anyone's idea of a good time, he decides to join in and help. At least Jensen was clever enough to bring two big coolers with bottled water and cans of soda to keep his helpers hydrated.

After the bed, desk and several bookcases are set up in Jensen’s room and all his boxes are stacked in one corner, Jensen orders pizza for everyone, Jared included. Jared recommends a delivery service a few blocks south that has amazing tomato sauce and free cheesy bread, but since Jensen’s helpers look like they could use some food right about now, he also gets two bags of nachos from the pantry. Turns out he even has a big jar of salsa in there.

"Thank you," Jensen says, smiling warmly. "You really didn’t have to."

"No problem," says Jared, and gets a few bottles of cold beer from the fridge.

It was a long day, though, and with some of Jensen’s friends having to drive all the way out to Long Island, everyone leaves soon after the pizza boxes are emptied.

Before bed, Jared offers Jensen another beer.

"I was thinking," Jensen says, taking a drink. "A housewarming party might be not be a bad idea. Nothing big," he assures Jared, "just some food and a few close friends." He smiles. "I think I need to create a little bit of a deadline for myself, or else I’ll never unpack those boxes."

Jared grins, he completely gets that line of reasoning. "Yeah," he says, "seems like a good idea. How about next Friday?"

"Sounds good." Jensen nods. "I’ll make chili and some finger food." He throws a meaningful glance in the direction of the door. "And I might pay someone to deliver the drinks. I’ve hauled enough heavy stuff up here for a while."

Jared just laughs.

"If you’d like," Jensen says, a tentative note in his voice, "you could invite some of your friends, too."

Jared hesitates for a moment, but if he really wants to turn over a new leaf, this might be a good opportunity. "Yeah," he says. "I just might."

A couple of weeks after the housewarming party, Jared’s already used to the sight of Jensen working in the kitchen. He sits at the counter, grading student essays and carefully eating unfrosted strawberry pop-tarts at the same time, which happen to taste completely disgusting, but for some reason are Jensen’s favorite.

He doesn’t look up when Jared stomps into the kitchen for the umpteenth time in the last two hours, opens the fridge, which – surprise, surprise – still doesn’t contain anything he wants to eat. Jared gets another bottle of water and takes a drink.

"Not that it’s any of my business," Jensen says, looking up from the essays and rubbing the bridge of his nose under his heavy glasses, "but how much water can you drink before you liquefy and I have to mop you off the floor?"

Jared sighs. "It’s that damn grant proposal. The project is great, but I just can’t make it sound that way." He rubs his temple. "I mean, how can I expect them to give me the money I need if I wouldn’t even give the money to myself for that piece of shit proposal."

"Is it really that bad?" Jensen asks, and Jared’s glad he doesn’t just feed him the ‘I’m sure it’s fine’ line.

"Yes, it is," Jared answers. "And the deadline’s tomorrow."

"Of course it is," Jensen says. He shoves the student essays together in a pile and makes a come-here gesture with his hand. "Come on, show me what you’ve got."

"Are you sure?"

"Language is my business." Jensen grins and adjusts his glasses with both hands. "Besides, if I have to read one more freshman essay on the corruption of the American Dream in The Great Gatsby, I might have to shoot myself."

"We wouldn’t want that," Jared says as he goes to get his laptop, and he feels a little better already.

Almost three hours later, they’ve whipped the proposal into shape. Jensen’s good at asking questions and listening to Jared’s answers, teasing out just what’s special and new and grant-money-worthy about the project. He can’t really help with the research side of things, of course, but everything sounds smoother, more structured and better organized than it did a few hours ago. It’s still Jared’s ideas and mostly his words, too, but in a much more coherent, compelling form, and Jared’s feeling more positive about his prospects. He sends the draft off to Osric and Lissa, the two post-grads working with him on the project, so they can add final corrections and suggestions, and then he takes a deep breath.

"Thank you, man," he says. "I feel so much better about that proposal now." It’s true. Even just having someone there he can talk to, vent to for a little while, does Jared good. That Jensen is a genuine help in some areas is just a bonus. 

"Don’t mention it," Jensen says, getting up from the bar stool at the kitchen island and stretching his limbs.

"If we really get the grant, I owe you dinner," Jared promises. "Something fancy."

"Sounds good," Jensen says. "I’ll hold you to that." He takes one of the delivery service menus that are pinned to the fridge door with a big, Texas-shaped magnet and waves it in Jared’s face. "Right about now, though, I’m going to order a pizza. You want some, too?"

Jared does – and he’s paying for the both of them. It’s really the least he can do.

"You were an intern at the _White House_ , seriously?" Jared’s laughing, but with Misha Collins, nothing seems impossible.

Misha and his wife were pretty much the first friends Jared made in New York, but after the divorce, Jared couldn’t quite stand being around them, their relationship too much of a reminder of the things he didn’t have anymore, and they had fallen out of touch – until Jared decided to take a chance and email Misha about Jensen’s housewarming party. They’ve gone for coffee a few times since then.

"I have a letter of recommendation with the official letterhead and everything," Misha insists. "If you come by our apartment, I’ll show you."

It sounds innocent enough, but Jared has a feeling that Misha is testing the waters. "How about you invite me to dinner?" Jared says, smiling. "It’s about time Vicky and I catch up anyway." And before he can say something about the past, something too private, Jared adds, "Compare notes on all the tall tales you’ve been spinning."

"Yeah," Misha grins brightly, "you should definitely do that."

An hour later, Jared has a dinner invitation for the following week. He feels pretty good about the way things are going as he walks up the stairs in his building. When he opens the apartment door, rifles and grenades are firing in the living room, and it doesn’t sound like any of the games they own. Jared toes off his shoes, sets down his backpack and goes to check out the source of the noise.

Turns out that Jensen is watching some kind World War II movie. "Hey," Jared says, recognizing one of the actors on screen, "isn’t that Gandalf?"

Jensen pauses the film and turns around. "Yeah," he says, "that’s Ian McKellen."

"What movie is that?"

"Richard III, an adaptation of the Shakespeare play."

Jared doesn’t have strong feelings on Shakespeare – they read Macbeth in high school, and it was okay. But this movie has tanks and debris everywhere and Gandalf in what looks like a fascist uniform, so he asks, "Is it good?"

Jensen looks a little surprised, but then he smiles and says, "I think it’s really good." There’s an unsure quirk to his mouth when he offers, "We could watch it from the beginning, if you want."

"Cool," says Jared, "just let me get something to drink first – you want anything?"

"Wow," Jared says less than two hours later. "That’s a pretty badass movie. Especially for something with so much verse."

Jensen grins. "Yeah. It’s based on a pretty badass play." Jared’s been trying to coax Jensen into using a little more _colloquial_ language, but the word ‘badass’ out of Jensen’s mouth still sounds more like a quote than something he’d actually say.

"You know what, I’m hungry. You want to get some Thai delivered?"

They order their food and settle in with a Scrubs rerun while they wait, but Jared soon discovers that his thoughts keep going back to that movie. It really was pretty good, but there are a few things he’s not sure he got right. He decides to ask Jensen, who’s only too happy to explain, and after a while, Jared feels a wide, knowing grin form on his face.

He wiggles his eyebrows and says, "Richard, he’s your favorite, right?"

Jensen ducks his head a little. "I guess you’re right," he says, smiling. "He has some of the greatest lines in all of Shakespeare – and that’s saying something."

Jared believes that.

The doorbell rings, and by the time they’ve paid for and divided their food, they’ve changed topics and settled back on the couch.

It’s not even eleven when Jensen gets up, stretches and says, "I still have to prep for my session tomorrow morning. I better get to that. Good night."

When Jensen’s almost at the door to his room, Jared calls after him, "Hey, Jensen."

Jensen turns a little and looks at him.

"That was a good movie earlier," Jared says. "And thanks for talking me through some of it after." He didn’t mean to say anymore, but on an impulse, he adds, "You’re a good teacher."

Jensen’s mouth turns in a quick smile. "Thanks," he says. "You’re not a bad student." And he disappears into his room.

Jared gets a bottle of water from the fridge, before he settles in with a newly published study he still needs to read. He doesn’t shut his door properly. Sometimes he forgets he’s not alone anymore. Also, he knows that Jensen will probably be working for another hour or two, coming into the kitchen to get something from the fridge or padding barefoot into the bathroom at some point. And somehow, Jared likes that, likes that there are the sounds of someone else in the apartment, and also likes that he already knows Jensen well enough to know what sounds to expect.

Sure enough, he’s just turned out his bedside lamp when he hears the fridge door open and close – although Jensen really isn’t loud, he’s considerate, and Jared snuggles deeper into his covers and into sleep.

The next morning, when Jared takes out the extra-pulpy orange juice he loves and Jensen hates, he finds a gold star and a note saying "well done :)" stuck to the carton. He has no idea where Jensen got a gold star, but it sure makes him smile.

"I can’t believe I just said _dude_ ," Jensen sighs as he runs his fingers through his shaggy hair, only making it messier. "I sound like one of my students."

"No," Jared grins gleefully, pushing the shopping cart further down the aisle before Jensen can add even more pop-tarts. "You sound like _me_. I’m verbally corrupting you."

They’re on their Sunday grocery run, which became a thing pretty soon after Jensen moved in. They share most of their food - at least the basics like milk, eggs, bread and coffee – as well as cleaning supplies, so it only makes sense to get that stuff together.

"I hate you," Jensen grumbles, even as he follows Jared.

Without turning around, Jared hollers, "Give it a few more months, and you will _fucking_ hate me." He adds another, "Dude," for good measure. 

It’s not like Jared is constantly swearing, but Jensen is pretty picky about language, and Jared enjoys riling him up a little every now and then.

"Please god, have mercy." Jensen looks up, but instead of heaven, there’s only a "bargain prices every day" sign hanging over his head. 

"Try saying _Jesus fucking Christ_ instead. It packs much more of a punch," Jared supplies helpfully.

"There’s only one solution," Jensen says with a regretful shake of his head, "I’ll have to move out."

"Really?" Jared gives Jensen the look he reserves for his adorable, five-year-old niece when he catches her in a lie. "Have you forgotten how heavy all those boxes with your precious books were?" He pretends to be bogged down by an imaginary box in his arms. "You were sweating like a pig – and that was with me picking up some of the slack, but if you bail on me, I sure won’t help you carry anything." He gives a pretend-casual shrug. "But hey, whatever – knock yourself out. Just remember to pay me two months’ worth of rent as compensation, as per your contract."

Jensen tries to grumble, but he’s clearly suppressing a smile when he says, "I _fucking_ hate you."

"Attaboy," Jared grins at him sunnily. "I’ll have you swearing like a sailor in no time."

Jensen puts some Swiffer wipes into the cart and says, "Once we’re home, I’ll have to lock myself in my room with Oliver Twist, and try to forget you exist."

"Aww, Jensen, don’t be like that," Jared croons. "Besides, Dickens is long dead, but John Madden is still alive." He waggles his eyebrows. "How about you join me for some Xbox later."

Jensen just raises his eyebrows in a way that says, "Seriously?"

"We have beer and mini pretzels." Jared waves the bag of pretzels in Jensen’s face. 

Jensen rolls his eyes again, but then says with a long-suffering sigh, "Okay, I’m in."

"Fucking awesome."

"I still hate you, though."

Jared’s hand has just slipped under the covers, holding his cock in a loose, lazy grip, just teasing himself a little, letting the excitement build slowly, when he hears a loud creaking that makes his hand still.

It’s Jensen’s door, and judging by how clearly Jared can hear the sound and the following footsteps, Jared's own door must not be shut properly. Jared usually doesn’t mind hearing Jensen rummaging around in the kitchen late at night, but right now is kind of a bad time. Somewhat irrationally, Jared doesn’t dare move, barely dares breathe. He doesn’t even let go of his dick. Hopefully, Jensen hasn’t decided to work in the kitchen tonight. He doesn’t usually do that once Jared’s in bed. 

When the bathroom door opens and closes, Jared breathes a sigh of relief. A minute later, Jensen turns on the shower. He often showers at night and usually takes his sweet time. It strikes Jared that this is a good opportunity to finish what he started without even having to leave his bed and close the door. 

If Jared gets done before Jensen turns off the water, there’s no chance Jensen will hear him. Before Jared can examine his own thought process further, his hand is already moving on his dick again. He can hear the sound of the water coming down in the shower and can almost imagine standing under the stream. They have great water pressure in the building and the temperature is good, too. Nice and hot.

Jared likes to feel it beat down on his shoulders, rivulets running down his back, his crack and his thighs, as he jacks himself. He likes how the air around him turns foggy, saturated with water, wetness everywhere. Distantly, he wonders if Jensen likes that, too. If maybe that’s the reason he always takes so long.

He fists his cock tighter, adds a little twist on the upstroke just the way he likes it, and soon, he licks the palm of his other hand and slips it under the covers, too, to play with his balls. Fuck, he loves that, loves to squeeze and pull gently, to roll his balls between his fingers while his other hand keeps up a fast rhythm around his dick. 

He loves the fantasy playing out in his head, too. The idea of hot water everywhere, of steam filling his nose, his mouth, his lungs, of another body pressing into his all wet and heated, flesh slippery under the rain of the showerhead. Having someone else’s hand close around his, moving together over his dick in a fast pulse.

When he comes, the shower’s still running, and Jared doesn’t even try to stifle his shout. 

He hasn’t come so hard in a long time.

Late one Saturday morning, Jared looks up from aimless channel-hopping when he hears Jensen’s door open, and when he sees the man himself, his jaw drops open. Jensen’s dressed like always, in baggy pants and a formless shirt and sweater vest, and Jared doesn’t even care about the complete lack of fashion sense his outfit exhibits. Jensen’s a nice guy, and if he wants to look like a rumpled version of everybody’s stereotype of an English lit professor, so be it. But there’s a line Jared wasn’t even aware of until now, and Jensen’s definitely crossed it.

His chunky brown glasses are sitting on his nose, and if those weren’t bad enough, the right arm is now connected to the rest of the frame with newly-applied white duct tape. 

"Okay, Jensen," Jared says with a stern look as he turns off the TV. "This is _so_ not happening."

"What?" Jensen looks at him like he has no idea what Jared’s talking about.

Jared rolls his eyes. It figures that he actually has to explain this to Jensen. "What you have perched on your crooked little nose there," Jared touches the tip of his own nose and puts special emphasis on his next words, "is a natural science cliché." Jensen still doesn’t look like he gets it. Jared sighs. "I will not let you desecrate my department’s honor."

Jensen’s forehead wrinkles in what looks like honest confusion. "Are you even trying to make sense?"

"Come on, dude," Jared can hear the exasperation creeping into his own voice. "The _duct tape_ that’s holding your glasses together."

Jensen gives him a _Yes what?_ -type of look. "I broke them last night. It was an accident."

Like Jared thought he did it on purpose. "Yeah, I’m sure it was. And do you know what people who see you out in the wild will think?"

Jensen turns his back to Jared and reaches for the European roast he bought earlier this week. "I’m going to need more coffee for this," he mumbles loud enough for Jared to hear.

Jared won’t let himself be dissuaded, not now that he’s on a roll. "People on the street will think you broke your glasses during some crazy science experiment in a lab or a research facility or something." He stabs his finger in Jensen’s direction, even though Jensen’s still facing the coffee maker. "They will see all their natural science guy clichés confirmed because of you. And you’re not even one of us. That is unacceptable."

Jensen steams some milk for his coffee, and it looks like he’s taking a deep, long breath before he turns around. "I honestly doubt that," he says. "And even if you were right – which I find highly unlikely – I still want to _see_ , you know. I don’t have another pair."

 _Of course_ Jensen wouldn’t have a spare pair, Jared thinks. But then it hits him: this could actually be a good thing, this could be an opportunity. 

"I’m sure you want to see, but the world doesn’t want to see you like this. You’re the official poster child for a stereotype that has hurt the reputation of people in the natural sciences for decades." Jared grins triumphantly. "And in perpetuating this stereotype, you continue to make it harder for us to get laid."

Jensen takes a sip from his coffee and says dryly, "From what you tell me, I thought you were doing quite well in that department."

"Yeah, but that’s only because I’m amazing. I’m the exception proving the rule." Jared really can’t help the smug smile he feels forming on his face. "But I’m thinking about the herd here, the bigger picture – the greater good. And for the sexual well-being of scientists in the greater New York area, you cannot go around looking like," he searches for an appropriate description, but draws a blank, "like this."

"You’re insane," Jensen looks like he really might believe what he’s saying. "I’m leaving."

Quickly, Jared gets up and blocks the way to Jensen’s room. "Only if you’re going out to buy new glasses."

"Oh, come on, Jay, you’re …" Jensen is too occupied with rolling his eyes to come up with a suitable adjective.

"Yeah, I know, I’m awesome."

"Not exactly the word I was looking for," Jensen grumbles. "You know what? You win. I’ll go and buy new glasses." He sighs and says, more to himself, "I should get on that anyway."

"Great," Jared says cheerily. "I’ll join you."

Jensen gives him a long-suffering look. "That’s really not necessary." 

"You know what?" Somehow, Jared finds himself stabbing his finger in Jensen’s direction again. "I think it is. Because I don’t trust you, so I better tag along. Make sure you don’t make bad choices again."

"Bad choices?" Jensen seems genuinely offended. "I’m an excellent decision maker. And unlike other people," he gives Jared a meaningful look that’s very much uncalled for, "I make sound, reasonable choice. Because I actually have good judgment."

"Yeah, right," Jared snorts. "Those glasses prove otherwise. And that was _before_ you broke them."

"Hey!" How Jensen can sound indignant on behalf of those ugly frames is beyond Jared.

"No arguing. You let me help you pick out your glasses, or I’ll start leaving my underwear everywhere."

Jensen looks mildly disgusted, but not entirely convinced.

"I’m not above putting a used sock in the toaster."

"It’s _your_ toaster." Jensen’s voice shrieks a little, and Jared knows he’s won.

"But you’re the one addicted to pop tarts."

"You’re insane," Jensen says, but his heart’s not in it anymore.

"Might be. More importantly, though, I have great taste and will be your shopping advisor for the day." He grins broadly, snatches his wallet from the dresser and ushers Jensen out the door.

At first, Jared wants them to go to the specs store in Macy’s where he got his aviators last summer, but then he remembers that he slept with the clerk who sold him the glasses – and hit on the girl who was there when he picked up a spare pair they ’d needed to order specially. He might have scored with that girl, too, if he hadn’t mixed up their names. Too bad.

Point being that one or both might still work there, and that means potential for things getting awkward. Better not risk it.

They’re almost at the subway station, and Jensen says something about going to one store and one store only. "Jared, I’m serious, I won’t spend my Saturday being dragged through store after store while you play style guru, do you hear me?"

"Okay, okay, okay." Jared says with a placating hand gesture. He got Jensen to go shopping with him, he should probably try not to push too far. "Only one store, I promise." Jared racks his brain for where to take Jensen, the grouchy Urkel-wannabe, and then he remembers an eyewear store right next to a place that sells amazing shoes at reasonable prices in Chinatown. He saw some great frames in their window the other day, and if he remembers correctly, they offer eye exams, too.

He steers Jensen to the right platform and tells him where they’re going. Jensen groans. "Chinatown, Jared, seriously? Why can’t we just go somewhere closer?"

"Because you said you wanted to go to one store and one store only, and I don’t want you to wind up with contraceptive glasses again. Now shut up and get on the train, McGrumpy."

Half an hour later, they enter I SPY, and their entrance is marked by a few seconds of the Harry Lime theme from The Third Man. There’s a blonde sales clerk busy with another customer. She gives them a quick smile and says, "My colleague’s on break, so it might be a few minutes. Feel free to browse."

So they start looking around. Or, more accurately, Jared keeps steering Jensen away from the cheapest and ugliest frames, and at the same time tries to find nice ones that might actually suit Jensen. The problem is that he has no idea what kind of glasses would look good on his roommate. Jared’s experience as a shopping assistant is limited to his ex-wife, who happened to have perfect eyesight.

Just as Jared is getting antsy, the doorbell chimes with a few chords from a Bond melody as the other customer leaves the store, and the clerk comes over to them. 

"Can I help you with anything?" she asks.

Jensen answers, "No, just looking," but Jared looks at her chest, where the store’s logo is embroidered together with her name, and says, "Yeah, Kristen, that would be great." He gives her a bright smile.

"I’m Jared, and this is Jensen. As you can see, he is in dire need of new glasses – and we’d like to make sure that they will actually look good this time."

Jensen shoots him a petulant look but says nothing, and Kristen smiles warmly.

"I’m sure we’ll find some frames you will both like," she says. "Do you have any specific ideas of what you are looking for?"

"I don’t really care," Jensen answers. "All I want for my glasses to be is robust and inexpensive." He looks at Jared and says pointedly, "I don’t need to make a fashion statement; I just want them to be functional."

Jared can’t believe Jensen just used the word ‘robust’, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he adds, "But _I_ want to make a fashion statement. And we don’t really care about the price, just show us something that will look great."

Kristen chuckles, and Jensen turns his head to Jared and hisses, "If you want to make a fashion statement, how about you make it on your own face?"

Jared hisses right back, "What’s so wrong with spending a little on yourself? And if you pay more now, you’ll get better quality, so you’ll save in the long run." He doesn’t actually want to get into a fight with Jensen over this, so he says, "You know what? I’ll pay for your frames, just as long as they actually look good on you."

Kristen looks a little uncomfortable now. Jared doesn’t blame her with the way Jensen’s glaring at him. "Maybe I should give you a minute."

Jensen gives her a smile that’s very clearly forced. "Yeah, that would be great." As she’s leaving, his head snaps back to Jared. "You are not paying for my glasses."

"But why not?" Jared thought that was a really nice – and very generous – idea. "When’s your birthday?"

Jensen’s whole expression is pinched, and he doesn’t sound amused at all when he answers, "March 1st; and I have my own money, thank you very much."

"I think I should give you the glasses as a belated birthday present."

"It’s December – and you didn’t even know me last March."

"And isn’t that a shame?" Jared tries his best smile on Jensen, but he’s not sure it’s working. "Come on, Jensen, we’ll work something out. Let’s just do this my way, and we’ll be out of here a lot quicker."

"You really think you’ll get away with that kind of skewed logic? How do you even survive in a science department?" 

Okay, it’s definitely not working. Jared decides to change tactics.

"Tell you what: we do it my way and we’ll be done soon. _Or_ we do it your way, and I will tell lovely Kristen over there my science stereotype theory in all its detailed glory, and tell her what an old Grinch you are. Your call."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Let’s just get this over with."

"That’s the spirit," Jared grins and chirps, "Kristen, we’re ready."

Kristen and Jared are standing opposite Jensen, and Kristen asks, "Okay, how do you want to do this? Should I just suggest some frames that might suit you or did you already find something you like?"

"No," Jensen says, "not really. I’d be happy to get some suggestions." His voice is not unfriendly, but still a little tense.

"Okay, great. How about you take off the old glasses for a second, so I can get a feel for your face and find a good fit?"

"Sure," Jensen says and takes off his heavy frames. At first, he squints and rubs his hand across his eyes and the bridge of his nose where the frames left deep red marks, but then he relaxes his face so Kristen can get a better look.

Jared gets a better look, too. Involuntarily, his mouth opens a little, but no sound comes out, for which he is thankful. He’s even more thankful that Jensen is blind as a bat and can’t see Jared’s face, because he’s sure he looks a little stunned. 

Jensen’s eyes, they’re … pretty. Behind the enormous frames, they seemed much smaller, and Jared never noticed them, but now: they’re fairly big and bright, and they’re an amazing green color with tiny gold specks, which shine like the freckles on his nose – which Jared also never really noticed before. And Jensen’s lashes – wow. They’re thick and dark and long. The guy has lashes like a girl. 

Of course, that’s the thing Jared says out loud.

Jensen shoots an exasperated look in Jared’s direction. "Just keep quiet or I’m leaving, okay? I don’t have a problem wearing duct taped frames for the rest of my life," he threatens.

"Yeah," Jared mumbles. "Sorry."

Kristen gives Jensen a bright smile. "You know, it would be a shame if you’d spent your whole life with duct-taped frames the size and weight of a brick. I’m sure we can pick out something flattering that you’ll also find much more comfortable. What’s your prescription, by the way?"

"These are 4.25, I think. It might be a little higher now, though. They’re not exactly new," Jensen says.

Jared gives Kristen serious salesperson credit for not laughing or having a snarky comeback for that. "Okay, great. I’ll find a few different styles for you. Be right back."

She leaves the two of them and goes to a big chest of drawers in the back. Jensen puts his old glasses back on, but makes a point of not looking in Jared’s direction. 

Jared clears his throat uncomfortably. "Hey, Jensen, I’m sorry I’m being such a pain. It’s just, you know, she’s right, those glasses must weigh a ton, that can’t be good. I just want you to get something nice and comfortable, is all," he says. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly his motivation to start with, but since Kristen brought it up – it must be true. The marks across the bridge of Jensen’s nose are pretty deep. That can’t be pleasant.

Jensen’s face softens. "It’s okay. You’re probably not wrong."

Soon Kristen is back with a tray carrying five different frames as well as a round hand-held mirror.

"I thought you’d probably be happiest if I don’t make you go through thirty different choices," she grins.

"Thirty?" Jensen gapes. "People don’t really suffer through that kind of marathon, do they?"

Kristen’s grin broadens. "The woman who was in here when you came tried on over forty different models."

"Insanity," Jensen says, but he’s smiling.

"This mirror has magnification, so you should be able to see yourself clearly even if the glasses have, um, no glasses in them." She smiles apologetically at the repetition, and Jared knows that makes Jensen like her more – despite Jared’s best efforts at verbal corruption, he’s still a little picky about language. Kristen explains, "I went for pretty lightweight models, so they don’t add too much weight on top of the lenses. Since you probably wear them all day, I didn’t want them to give you a headache."

Jensen tries on the first pair, made of dark grey plastic, but it doesn’t fit quite right on the bridge of his nose. He flat out rejects a pair with a dark green and black pattern, which Kristen insists would bring out the color of his eyes. "Sorry, but I’m a teacher. I really don’t think I want to wear these in front of my students."

"He’s a lecturer at Columbia," Jared corrects him, and he isn’t even sure why.

Kristen just smiles as Jensen rolls his eyes. 

After a pair of black, round glasses, which Jensen likes but Jared dismisses as "way too Harry Potter," it comes down to a pair of oval, wire-rimmed glasses and a pair of square, slightly chunky black plastic ones. Both cover a good deal less of Jensen’s face than the old ones, revealing those light freckles across his cheek bones. Somehow, both models bring the focus more to Jensen’s bright eyes instead of his old, god-ugly frames that drew all the attention to their own hideousness. 

Judging the frames and deciding which one looks best happens to be the perfect excuse for staring at Jensen’s eyes. Not that Jared needs an excuse. Not that he even really _wants_ to look at Jensen’s eyes. Because this is Jensen, who has a reddish beard that doesn’t match his shaggy brown hair, who is a little chubby and scratches his belly in front of the fridge every morning. Jensen, who wears brown corduroy pants and knitted sweater vests over unironed lumberjack shirts, for god’s sake. 

Somehow, miraculously, Jared and Kristen convince Jensen to take both models, so he’ll have a spare pair next time. She gives him the second pair at a discount and throws in a case and some micro fiber cloth for cleaning. 

Kristen gets her colleague, who works somewhere in the back and apparently hates people, to check Jensen’s prescription. The number, which is up 0.75, earns Jensen disapprovingly raised eyebrows from everyone present. In truth, though, Jared is just mimicking the two experts because he doesn’t have a clue what that actually means. Jensen doesn’t seem perturbed anyway and simply asks how long it will take until he can collect his glasses.

People-hating guy says, "Since you obviously have a high tolerance for pain and blurred vision, you probably don’t care how much longer you’ll have to wear these headache-inducers." He clearly wants to go on, but Kristen shoots him a look, which is an odd mixture of scolding and pleading. "But since I’m such a nice guy," the guy says and Jared tries really hard not to snort, while Jensen is biting into his beard to keep from laughing, "and I think I have a couple of blanks left in your prescription, I can do it right away. You can pick them up in about three hours."

"Great," Jared interjects before Jensen can say anything. "We’ll be back in three hours. Thank you so much."

Turning towards the door, Jared says, "Come on, Jensen, let’s find some place to eat. I’m starving."

They wind up just a few blocks outside of Chinatown, at a great little place called L’Orange Bleu that has Creole food. Jared’s been meaning to go there for a long time.

When they come back to I SPY to pick up the glasses a couple of hours later, Kristen does some fine-tuning of the stems by heating them up and bending them so they’ll fit exactly the way it’s most comfortable for Jensen. 

Once she’s done, Jensen decides to wear the black frames and puts the wire-rimmed ones in the free case she gives him. Before Jensen can put his old glasses away, too, Jared snatches them from the counter and breaks them in two. He grins. "Just making sure you won’t relapse."

Jensen just shakes his head. It’s better than the almost-constant eye-rolling. 

Jensen turns to Kristen and says, "Thanks for your kind help, Kristen. I really appreciate that you didn’t make me suffer through hundreds of choices." His grin widens as he continues, and Jared can’t help noticing how the laugh lines around his eyes deepen. It’s surprisingly attractive. "Also thanks for making old McGrumpy back there put the glasses in right away. I don’t know what kind of power you have over him, but I’m glad you use it for good and not evil."

"No worries," she smiles. "I always enjoy it when people actually buy frames I picked out for them. Changing the face of New York, one visually handicapped person at a time."

They laugh with her and turn to leave, and as she walks them to the door, Jared says, half over his shoulder, "Thanks, Kristen."

The Mission: Impossible theme starts up when Jensen leaves the store. Kristen grins back at Jared and holds the door open for him, "For prettying up your boyfriend? Any time. Just remember me when it’s time to buy him some sunglasses, too."

Jared squints briefly and shakes his head, but he doesn’t correct her. Instead, he just half-waves before the door closes. It’s not like Jensen heard her anyway.

When Jared turns around, he sees Jensen admiring himself in the mirror that is part of the window display. He turns to Jared and says, "Okay, okay. I admit it. You were right. These glasses are so much more comfortable than the old ones – and the world is finally in full focus again." He grins, his eyes crinkling once more. "I’d almost started to believe I lived in an expressionist painting."

Jensen throws his arm around Jared’s shoulder and squeezes briefly, smiling up at Jared, "Thanks, buddy."

Jared can’t help looking into his eyes, they’re so green. If this was hidden beneath the giant glasses of doom, he wonders what would happen if Jensen got a haircut and started shaving. 

"No problem. I know you’re just trying to distract me from the fact that you stole my word."

Jensen squints at Jared and lets go of his shoulder.

"Don’t play dumb. You called the people-hater in there ‘old McGrumpy’ - that’s _my_ word – and it’s reserved for you."

Jensen sighs. "I didn’t know you held the copyright on that one. And it was an _homage_ , anyway," he says, pronouncing the word French.

"Oh, an _homage_?" Jared parrots. "You’re just trying to soften me up with your naughty French talk." He can’t help smiling.

"Is it working?" Jensen says and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Sure," Jared says good-naturedly.

Jensen touches his hands to his glasses and intones dramatically, "So, what do you say: Have I redeemed myself? Am I no longer a threat to the honor of the scientific community?"

Jared grins. "Indeed, my lord, you art fully redeemed." 

"Gentleman," Jensen says with an answering grin, "thou art most kind."

Later that day, he lets Jared have the last bottle of ice tea from the fridge, even though he loves ice-cold ice tea almost as much as he loves pop-tarts.

Jared's just settled in at the coffee table with his computer and latest study design when Jensen comes out of his bedroom, wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a pair of jeans and a small rainbow pin. The clothes are a little more fitted than his usual fare, and the tighter fit of the jeans shows off Jensen’s bowlegs. Jared half wants to make a ‘Hey, cowboy, where’d your horse go?’ joke, but Jensen looks pretty nice today, bowlegs and all, and Jared doesn’t want him to take it the wrong way.

"Where are you going?" Jared asks, even though he already knows.

"GSA meeting," Jensen says as he puts on his shoes.

"Ooooh," Jared coos, "your secret shame."

"Oh, Jared," Jensen says completely deadpan, "please do go on making that joke every time, it just _never stops_ being funny."

"I know," Jared grins. "And you know that you brought it upon yourself." Which is completely true. 

A few weeks after Jensen moved in, Jared had seen him wearing the rainbow pin for the first time, and asked Jensen about it. 

"I'm going to a gay-straight alliance meeting on campus," Jensen had explained. "I'm trying to go to the meetings at least once a month, you know. I think it's good for students to see that some of the faculty is out, too." 

Jared had been a little shocked. "So you're gay?"

Jensen had nodded. "Yes."

"And you're out at work, but you never told me?" That had stung a little.

"It just never came up," Jensen had said.

"Yes, it did," Jared answered indignantly. " _I_ brought it up the first time we met. When I told you that I was bi, remember?"

"Uh." Jensen had cocked his head and scratched at his neck in that bashful way that's now so familiar to Jared. "I just," he began, "It just felt so strange to say, 'Oh, you’re bi? What a coincidence! I’m gay – let’s be friends.' It's not that I didn't _want_ you to know."

"I think you should have told me." Jared had said, knowing that he was pouting a little.

Jensen had nodded. "It was wrong not to tell you," he conceded. "I’m sorry."

"It's okay," Jared had said, then sniggered to lighten the mood. "Not everyone's comfortable sharing their secret shame."

And that first time Jared had said it, Jensen had laughed out loud.

Now Jensen's ready to head out. Shoes, jacket, a backpack with a bottle of water and a bottle of juice (because for whatever reasons, Jensen's always afraid he’ll dehydrate within minutes of leaving the apartment), and he's double-checking his keys and wallet are in place like he always does.

"You want to come with?" he asks, somewhat unexpectedly.

It's weird that Jared feels almost ... honored to be asked, but he waves Jensen off with a gesture towards the work materials spread out on the coffee table. "Not this time," he says. "I have exciting work to do on that study design tonight." He pretends to shoot himself with the fingers of his right hand.

Jensen smiles. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah," Jared says, "next time."

Two weeks before spring break, Jensen gets an email from an old friend in Dallas, who just got engaged.

"The engagement barbeque is mid-March," Jensen tells Jared, beaming happily. "Exactly during spring break. Timing’s on my side for once." He smiles. "A lot of old friends will be there – it’s going to be great. I think I’ll make a long weekend of it, visit some other people and family, too."

Jared’s happy for him. He’s always glad, too, when he has an opportunity to go home and see some of his high-school buddies. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him.

"You know what," Jared says. "I never actually did spring break."

"What?"

"I mean," Jared explains, "I never went on a road trip to party in Cancun or Florida or whatever. I was never at one of those Girls Gone Wild parties. I completely missed out on that experience."

"Me neither," Jensen says, shrugging. "I doubt we missed much."

Jared's not so sure. He always wanted to go on a road trip, and he's sure it could be a lot of fun.

He looks at Jensen speculatively. "You know what?" he says. "Let's find out. Let's make up for lost time this year." 

Jensen raises his eyebrow in that way he has. "It might come as a shock to you, but I don't actually want to go to a Girls Gone Wild party."

Jared rolls his eyes. "That's not what I meant. Let's rent a car together and drive to Texas. My family's in San Antonio, that's not that far from Dallas." 

Jensen looks skeptical.

"I mean it," Jared insists. "We could see a few attractions on the way, maybe, stop in some places we'd otherwise never visit." He grows more and more excited as he speaks. "And then we'll spend a couple of days with our families before we fly back here."

"You're serious," Jensen says, like it's a surprise.

"Dead serious."

Jensen's resistant at first, but ultimately, Jared wears him down.

When Chad calls him two days later, Jared has already spent hours on the internet planning their trip. He tells Chad about the route and the attractions he wants them to see.

"It’s perfect," Jared says after he has explained everything to Chad. "Jensen’s birthday is on Thursday, and I can give him the schedule and a gift certificate for the car rental and gas."

"Yeah," Chad says, as teasing note in his voice. "I’m sure your boyfriend will love it."

"What?"

"You know what," Chad says. "You’re going on _spring break_ with the guy you already _live with_. And you talk about him all the time, anyway." Chad pauses before concluding, "Sure sounds like a boyfriend to me."

Jared lets out a long-suffering sigh. "We’re roommates and we’re friends, of course I talk about him – he is there _all the time_. Because we, you know, live in the same apartment."

"And you go to the same bars and you know each other’s friends and you go to concerts together and ball games and fucking GSA meetings," Chad argues. "And when Jensen wants to leave your little bubble of love for a few days, your reaction is to say, ‘Great, why don’t I tag along?’"

"Don’t be ridiculous, Chad," Jared says. "We’re just friends – and we’re both from Texas. It just makes sense to drive down there together."

"Okay, okay," Chad says, but he doesn’t sound fully convinced. Quietly, he adds, "I just don’t want you to get hurt."

In his heart of hearts, Jared appreciates that, but he’s still glad when Chad changes the subject to his latest acting gig.

The trip turns out to be an amazing idea. Okay, so not everything goes as planned, and there’s some roadwork and map-reading issues and a traffic jam or two Jared didn’t anticipate, but they still have a great time.

Jensen makes it his condition that he brings along some CDs – CDs, seriously, Jensen’s adorably behind the times sometimes; he doesn’t even have Facebook. In exchange, Jensen’s also responsible for the snacks. As always with Jensen, there’s a scary excess of pop-tarts, but there are plenty of foods Jared loves, too, especially Twizzlers and those barbecue-flavored chips Jared is addicted to.

They drive to Monticello on the first day and spend a couple of hours exploring the museum and impressive grounds. There are employees dressed in period garb, who are only too willing to share interesting facts and anecdotes, and the weather is cool but pleasant enough that the half-hour wait to get into Jefferson’s mansion is no problem at all. Jensen snaps about a thousand photos, and Jared teases him only a little about it.

The next day, they drive by a replica of Stonehenge, right there in Kentucky, and then take a tour of one of the many distilleries in the state. Jared’s surprised to learn that there’s a point in the distillation process when bourbon smells pretty much like beer. Their tour guide is so proud of the superior quality of their product, though, that Jared doesn’t utter that thought out loud. After the tour, both Jensen and he get a few bottles and shot glasses as gifts for their parents, and even though they both only take a sip or two when they’re offered a sample, they still sing along to Sweet Home Alabama at the top of their lungs as they drive further south.

On Monday, Jensen puts his foot down, declaring that, even with them sharing driving duty, Jared’s plans are simply too ambitious.

"We spent what, an average of ten hours a day in the car this weekend?" he says. "I don’t need to check Nashville _and_ Memphis off my list in a single day. I’d rather have a little time to actually explore the place we’re in."

Jared pouts for about fifteen minutes, because he really wanted this to be the most experience- and fun-packed trip of all time, but then he acquiesces.

"Okay," he says over the sound of The Steve Miller Band. "We’ll skip Nashville and drive straight to Memphis."

"Good," Jensen says and changes CDs. A moment later, Paul Simon sings, "I’m going to Graceland," and Jared has to laugh.

Graceland is amazing. It’s huge and kitschy and wonderful. There are visitors dressed as different incarnations of Elvis and old folks who proudly tell them that they saw the King live on stage next to kids whose parents were probably still in kindergarten when Elvis ate his last peanut butter, banana and bacon sandwich. Jared spends a ridiculous amount of money in the gift shop, buying t-shirts for his whole family, a few CDs, and even a dashboard Elvis for their rental car. He can always give that to his sister later.

Jensen teases him about his loot, but when they get in the car to drive downtown, he puts in one of Jared’s new CDs and turns up the volume.

On Tuesday, they sleep in for the first time and are back on the road at about ten. Jared’s still mindful of Jensen’s comment about their jam-packed schedule, so he half-states, half-asks, "So, I’ll just be driving straight to Dallas then."

Jensen gives him a bright grin from the passenger’s seat. "And miss the chance to take photos of the real fake Oval Office?" he asks. "No way. Let’s go to Little Rock."

They don’t really drive into the city itself, but they do visit the Clinton Presidential Center and Park. It’s a pretty big complex, so they only check out the museum and walk around the park a little, stopping for sandwiches and soda. Visitors aren’t allowed to sit in the president’s chair, unfortunately, but Jensen still gets a kick out of making a sweeping "Welcome to my humble abode" gesture when Jared takes a photo of him in front of the entrance to the replica Oval Office.

When they arrive at Jensen’s parents’ house late that night, Jared can feel the exhaustion in his bones, but it’s the good kind. They really did drive and see a lot in the last few days.

Jensen’s mom gives Jared fresh towels, and Jensen shows him to the guest room and tells him where the bathroom is. Before he closes the door, Jensen turns around and looks at Jared with a warm smile. "Thank you," he says. "That was an amazing trip."

Jared feels an answering smile bloom on his face. "It really was," he says.

When he goes to bed ten minutes later, he’s still smiling.

Jensen shows him around Dallas the next day, but since the engagement party isn’t until Saturday, they drive down to San Antonio in the afternoon, so Jared can see his parents, and, more importantly, Jensen can see the Alamo. He’s never been to San Antonio before and Jared considers this sacrilege.

They have fun in the city, and Jared takes Jensen to the River Walk, where they get some more souvenirs. Then, they meet up with Jared’s brother – his sister lives in Atlanta these days – and eat the best ribs in the state in one of Jared’s favorite restaurants.

When they get back to Jared’s parents’ place for the night, Jensen and Jared sit down around the big oak table in the kitchen with Jared’s mom and dad and just talk for a while. Their family’s had this table for as long as Jared can remember, and he always liked having meals together here, talking and making fun of each other, which is just the Padalecki way.

When Jared’s parents turn in for the night, he gets out two beers and invites Jensen to come and sit outside on the porch for a bit. The night air is cool and crisp, but not too cold, and Jared enjoys the quiet. In New York, there’s always city sounds outside.

"I’ll tell you a secret," he says, out of nowhere, surprising even himself.

Jensen tilts his head a little and smiles.

"When I was seventeen, I ran away from home over the summer."

"Really?" Jensen looks shocked. "You and your parents seem so close now."

Jared laughs a little. "It wasn’t about my parents, it was about a girl."

"Uh-huh," Jensen says knowingly.

"My girlfriend broke up with me a week after prom, and somehow, I thought the best way to pay her back was to go to Los Angeles and become a famous movie star." It’s completely ridiculous now, but he still remembers that it made sense to him at the time.

"Sounds like a great plan," Jensen says.

"Yeah." Jared takes a drink from his bottle. "It really wasn’t. Turns out that one lead role in your high school drama club doesn’t directly translate into movie stardom."

Jensen looks at him, warm and completely unmocking.

"On the bright side," Jared adds. "That’s when I met Chad."

Jensen chuckles. "The guy who has no idea that time zones correlate to acceptable telephone hours?"

"That’s the one," Jared says and scratches his neck. 

"He’s a good friend, though," Jared says earnestly. "He took me under his wing in L.A. and even encouraged me to go back home and finish high school." He smiles wistfully. "I owe him a lot. I forget that sometimes."

After a while, he says, "You’re the only person in New York who knows that about me."

"We’re in Texas now," Jensen says and raises his bottle. "What happens in Texas stays in Texas."

They clink bottles and just sit there for a while, not talking and just enjoying the night. They should probably head inside soon, so they’ll have some buffer for their drive back to Dallas for the barbecue, but Jared’s so comfortable right here that he doesn’t want to get up just yet. Jensen doesn’t seem inclined to move either, so Jared looks back up at the sky and relaxes into the chair.

The morning after the barbecue, Jared wakes up to breakfast with the whole Ackles family, all sitting at their huge breakfast bar. Jensen's brother makes omelets and pancakes for everybody.

"That's tasty," Jared says, pointing his fork at the omelet on his plate. 

"Good," Jensen's brother grins. "The secret's in the spicy sausage."

"I believe it," Jared mumbles around another mouthful.

"Stop being so full of yourself, Jeff," says Jensen, rolling his eyes.

"By the way, Jensen," Jared says as he pours himself more orange juice, "why were some people calling you _Vike_ last night?"

Jensen's sister looks at him gleefully. "I can't believe you didn't tell him," she exclaims.

Jensen covers his face with his hands. "Oh, please no."

Jared grins, intrigued. "Oooh," he says, "what's the story?"

"Hold on a second," Mackenzie says. "I'm going to get some pictorial evidence."

Jensen groans.

When she comes back, she triumphantly holds up a leather-bound photo album.

"These are from Jensen’s football days," she explains as she slides back into the seat next to Jared.

"You played _football_?" Jared really wouldn’t have pegged Jensen for a former athlete.

Mackenzie pushes her plate and glass out of the way to make space to open the album. "I can’t believe you didn’t tell him that either."

"Jensen," says Mrs. Ackles, who’s standing at the kitchen counter with a mug in her hand. "I thought we always taught you to share."

Jensen shoots her a _Haha, very funny, mom_ kind of look.

"You’re in for a treat," Jensen’s sister says, and she’s right.

In the first photo, a young, tan guy in a football uniform with lots of freckles and wild, long blond hair is standing in the middle of group of other football players. They’re all sweaty and smiling and posing in victory. 

"That," Mac points at the boy in the center, "is Jensen." She adds, "Also known as The Viking."

It takes Jared a moment to process. "Oh. My. God," he finally says, looking more closely at the picture. "That’s really you." 

The guy in the photo is lean and athletically built. His skin and sun-bleached long hair clearly show that he spends a lot of time outside, and he’s … Fuck, he’s _hot_. And he’s Jensen.

"You look like Thor in the Avengers movie." It’s an exaggeration, of course, but not by that much. Sure, Jensen is less bulky than Chris Hemsworth, leaner – and a lot younger in those photos. Still, Jared definitely understands where the nickname came from.

Though, now that he knows, Jared can see Jensen in the photo, too. He recognizes the eyes and teeth and the big smile that Jensen gets sometimes when he’s really comfortable and happy.

Jensen just shakes his head. "Gawking time is over," he says and moves to close the photo album. But Mackenzie has other plans – and honestly, with Jensen squirming like that while his family supplies more than one embarrassing story from Jensen’s youth, Jared really doesn’t mind. Serves him right for always playing things close to his chest.

A few weeks after they’re back from Texas, Jared gets an email from the team leader on one of his research projects that sends his mind reeling and his heart pounding in his chest. At first, he can’t talk to anybody about it, not even Jensen, not before he figures out what he’s feeling and has a plan for how to deal with the situation. It takes two days of endlessly turning it over in his mind, and Jensen giving him increasingly concerned looks, before Jared finally comes up with something. It’s not perfect, and he’s not totally sure he can pull it off, but the alternatives are even worse.

He waits for a nice Saturday evening, when they’re both relaxed and sitting on the couch with half-empty pizza boxes and soda cans on the coffee table, before he dares to bring it up. 

"So," he says, trying to sound casual. "Remember that two-year joint research program you helped me apply for, the one where I’d spend the summer in Paris?"

"Yes." Jensen nods, a smile on his lips.

"The thing is, when Lauren left me, it crushed me pretty bad." Jensen looks up, apparently startled by Jared’s abrupt change of subject. Even though he never said it in so many words, Jared’s pretty sure Jensen already knows this, but Jared really wants it to be at the forefront of Jensen’s mind right now. "Soon after the divorce, she got this job in the engineering department at NYU." And yes, Jared only learned this because he internet-stalked her pretty obsessively the first year or so after the divorce. "And now, they’ve selected two institutions from New York for the LAS-AR project, and we’ve both made it. Well, our respective research teams made it, but still …"

"Oh, no. Jared." Jensen is instantly a lot more sympathetic, which is good news for Jared’s plan. "You have to work with her for the project? That sounds really very awkward. I’m sorry." 

"Yeah, well." Jared shrugs, trying to affect a lack of concern. "It’s not like I have to work with her all the time. Our teams only have to work together on two work packages." He takes a deep breath. Here goes. "For some reason, the Columbia and NYU science departments think this is a great opportunity for inter-institutional mingling. The idea is that we meet up one Friday every other month to talk in person about the project as well as general developments in the field. And after that, because the all-knowing administration believes that strong social connections foster collaboration and goodwill, the department invites everyone and their significant others to dinner." Jared looks over and is relieved to see that Jensen’s face is appropriately mortified. "And it’s not really optional."

"Ouch." Jensen pats his shoulder. "That is really good and really, really bad news at the same time." He shrugs, clearly at a loss. "Do you want to get drunk?"

"Later, absolutely." In fact, that’s an excellent idea. "First though, I have this favor to ask you. It’s kind of big."

"I sympathize with your situation, I do," Jensen assures him. "But just so you know, I draw the line at sabotaging a lab or hiding a body."

"Then you’ll be glad to hear that I plan on doing neither," Jared says. "I just … I don’t want Lauren to think I’m this sad loser whose heart she ripped out so thoroughly that he’ll never find someone else to love again." Jared winces at his own words. 

Jensen raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t laugh, so that’s a good sign. He nods encouragingly, and from the open expression on his face, Jared’s pretty sure Jensen has no idea where this is going.

"Especially when she’s there with her husband, and I won’t be able to avoid seeing how they are together." Jared knows Lauren’s married again because he found her name on the list of researchers involved in the NYU project, and her last name is now hyphenated. When he first saw that, it had made him a little ill. He meets Jensen’s eyes. It’s time to set up the kill. "So I thought the best thing would be to bring my own partner to these dinners."

Jensen’s eyes grow a little wider. "When’s the first dinner?"

"Three weeks from now."

"Damn," Jensen says with feeling. "I wish I could help, but I don’t think I know any women available to go on a date with you."

"That’s not what I’m talking about either." Jared simply can’t drag it out any longer. Why did Jensen choose this conversation of all times to be so thick? "No," Jared says, "I want _you_ to be my date. Um, my fake partner, actually."

Jensen looks at him strangely and then he makes a weird, coughing noise, which swiftly evolves into a chuckle and then outright laughter. 

"Okay," he wheezes, his eyes watery with tears of laughter. "You got me there for a second." His laughter rises again as he shakes his head and says, "Fake boyfriend – good one."

Jared just keeps looking at him, and waits for Jensen to calm down. 

Finally, Jensen seems to catch on to Jared’s mood, and his face becomes serious again. "You can’t really mean that."

"It would be perfect." Jared nods his head emphatically. "I mean, just think about it. Most of my colleagues already know that we live together, too, so it wouldn’t even be a real surprise. It would seem more like a natural progression."

"Uh-huh." Jensen just stares at him for a long minute, and then abruptly stands up and gets a bottle of wine and two glasses from the cabinet. 

Jared gives him a moment and waits until they’ve both had their first sip.

"We would be a great couple," he says earnestly. 

Jensen takes another drink. "As much as I’m touched by the sentiment – and not wanting to play the low self-esteem card – but do you really think so? I’m not exactly a trophy boyfriend."

"Jensen," Jared says, "you’d be perfect for this." He catches Jensen’s gaze and holds it. "I’ve thought about this all week, and I want her to believe that I’m in love. That I’m in a long-term, committed relationship. You know. Domestic bliss." 

Jensen chokes. " _Domestic bliss_?" At least he doesn’t manage to form a coherent counter-argument.

"Sure." Jared brushes right past his incredulity. "You’re funny and smart and easy to talk to and you’re kind of cute – especially with those new glasses." He gives Jensen a grin. "Plus, I actually like you."

"Jared-" Jensen drains his wine glass in one big gulp and quickly refills it. "I can’t just commit to pretending to be together with you, especially not at Columbia, where people I know are bound to find out."

"Come on," Jared pleads. "Think about it. I mean, it’s not like you’ve had a boyfriend since we moved in together." 

Jensen looks at him, clearly insulted. 

"No, no," Jared’s quick to assure him. "I didn’t mean it like that. You know I haven’t had someone either. What I mean is that we both are in tenure-track positions, and we both need to concentrate on our careers and our publications for the next couple of years, anyway. I won’t have the time to develop a deep and meaningful relationship in the near future, and you don’t seem like you do either."

Jensen looks slightly dazed. Jared soldiers on. "And, you know, if it’s about your, uh, needs. I mean, I could arrange for sexual encounters on occasion. Just give me a heads-up."

Jensen’s eyes grow unnaturally large and his freckles stand out more against his skin than they usually do. 

"What? I hear I’m pretty good," Jared says.

"This is insane."

"Please, Jensen. Just come to the first dinner, see how it goes. We can always ‘break up’ before the next one." Jared’s completely serious now, looking at his hands, and says softly, "I just don’t want to go there alone. I wouldn’t feel like such a loser if Lauren thought I’d be able to score a boyfriend like you."

He means it. Jensen’s a great guy: kind, smart, and funny to boot. He’d be lucky to land someone like him.

Jensen’s hand on Jared’s back comes as a bit of a surprise, but the light patting motion is soothing, just like Jensen’s voice when he says, "Oh come on, you don’t have any reason to feel like a loser."

Jared doesn’t know how it happens, but he feels his eyes turn glassy, no actual tears, but close, and his voice is uneven when he says, "But I do." It’s a small shock to realize it’s true. "I was the one who wanted to get married. We met in college, and I really, really thought it was forever. I wanted the whole _happily ever after_ and the _honey, I’m home_ , and when they offered me the position in New York, she came along and it all seemed to fall into place. And after a few months, she just – she left me." It’s been years now, and the sting of that still hurts.

He takes a long drink from his glass of wine. "And now she has someone new. So being married wasn’t the problem." Jared swallows. "I was."

Jensen’s hand on his back rubs soothing circles into his shirt. "Jared, you have to know that’s not true," and somehow, it’s like Jared hears him and doesn’t hear him at the same time.

He feels like he’s talking more to himself than to Jensen when he continues. "You know, after the divorce, there was a long time where I was just … sleeping around. One-night stands and hook-ups. Nothing permanent." The smile on his face feels wrong, twisted. "Hell, I made hardly any friends here, I was so busy finding people to have sex with. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even use the fucking master bedroom because it always made me think about her." He still can’t quite believe it took over two years and finding a roommate to be able to move back into the bigger bedroom. 

"But then you moved in, and," Jared sighs and takes another sip of wine, "I can come home again in the evening and being here doesn’t automatically make me think of her. I’m happy again. I have a social life and friends." He gives Jensen a smile. "And I have you. We play video games and go see the Mets together, and I can steal your disgusting pop-tarts. I feel like – like we’re friends, good friends. And I’ve finished and submitted a couple of papers since you moved in. Am pretty confident about them, too. It feels like I’m turning my life around – and I want her to see that, you know, see that she didn’t damage me so badly that I can’t be fixed." 

When he looks quietly at Jensen for a long moment, his earnest gaze is being returned. "Come along just this once. Please." Jared tries for a small, coaxing smile.

"Okay," Jensen says, smiling, too. "I’ll come along this one time, but if I’m not up for it the next time, you promise not to bug me." 

Jared nods his consent. He can live with that.

"Are you really, absolutely sure that’s a good idea?" Jensen asks a week later.

"Of course I am," Jared says. Jensen always has to second-guess and double-check everything, and it’s getting kind of annoying. "It’s going to be great. Plus, you actually speak French, and I can use you to translate stuff for me. Having a personal interpreter is so cool. You’ll be my own Nicole Kidman." He beams at Jensen. "And they’re giving me an apartment for the entire summer I’m working with the R&D team in Paris. Okay, it probably won’t be big, but it would be a shame not to have you come visit for at least a week or two." He waggles his eyebrows. "You know you want to."

"Okay, okay," Jensen says like he’s doing Jared this big favor. "I get it: you’d be completely lost without me." He gives an exaggerated sigh. "I guess I’ll just have to suck it up and sacrifice some of my precious time, so I can come visit you."

"You’re so noble," Jared says.

"Yeah, okay," Jensen admits. "And maybe I’d really like to see France again and show you some of the most amazing parts of Paris." He grins. "But only maybe."

Jared knew Jensen would be excited about the trip. He loves Europe, and even spent a year in Belgium when he was a student. He tries to be subtle about it, but when Jared goes into Jensen’s room a few days later to rummage through Jensen’s drawers in search of clean sheets for his own bed, Jared notices the travel guides and art books piling up on Jensen’s bookshelf and desk. And Jensen’s "Hey, I found this guide in my stuff, thought you might want to check it out" doesn’t come off nearly as casual as Jensen tries to make it sound.

Jared decides to put the poor guy out of his misery. "You know," he starts, "I leafed through that travel guide you gave me. It looks like this could really be a great trip. And I thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a dumb idea to make the most use of your language skills, you know. Like, go on a weekend trip or something while you’re there."

"A weekend trip?"

"Yeah, I mean, I don’t have any specifics worked out or anything, but if you’d be up for it, we could rent a car again and go somewhere. Or use the TVG."

"TGV," Jensen corrects, pronouncing it French.

"Whatever. The French train that’s really, really fast."

Jensen nods. "Yeah, that doesn’t sound half bad." He’s trying to act cool, but Jared can see the unmistakable gleam in his eyes. Jensen is so very, very excited. Jared likes that.

"Thing is, I’m really swamped with trying to wrap up everything here before I go. So I thought that maybe, if you can make the time, you could work something out. I mean, where to go for a weekend, maybe some things to do in Paris, too. Just, you know restaurants, museums, architecture."

"You want museums and architecture?"

"Dude, I’m an academic, too, remember?" Jared’s a little insulted. "When I get the chance to live in Paris for a few months, I’d actually like to make good use of my time there. Not just explore the can-can performances."

"Hey, I know. I didn’t mean it like that," Jensen sounds genuinely apologetic. "I can throw something together. After you did all the planning for our last road trip, it’s really the least I can do."

The mere mention of their trip to Texas has Jared smiling. "Great," he says. "Just remember that my complete French vocabulary comes from listening to ‘Lady Marmalade.’"

"Okay," Jensen nods dutifully, "got it."

Two days later, Jared finds a small package in front of his bedroom door. It contains a pile of cards. The first one is a postcard with can-can girls on it, the rest is a series of flashcards, written in Jensen’s neat, students-actually-have-to-read-my-comments handwriting – which is quite different from his I-dare-you-to-read-this-without-mad-decryption-skills handwriting, which he tends to use for taking phone messages and scrawling things on the shopping list they have pinned on the refrigerator with a Dallas Cowboys magnet.

Each one of the flashcards has a useful French phrase on it with a transcription in the International Phonetic Alphabet as well as in "as if it were English" fake phonetics. Some even have artistically questionable stick figure drawings.

The postcard reads, "Just so you won’t be lost without me. Wouldn’t want you marrying a can-can dancer without even realizing what you’re getting yourself into. – Jensen"

Jared reads through the flashcards and smiles. Jensen geared his little cards towards Jared’s needs, so he finds things like "Can you recommend a place to eat?", "Do you have this in a larger size?", and "Where’s the nearest hair salon?"

Jensen’s also helpful enough to include the phrase, "Could you please bill the ‘adult entertainment channels’ separately, so my employers won’t know I watch porn?" He thinks he’s so funny. 

Jared takes out a post-it note and writes "Mare-cee, mon uh-mee." He puts it on Jensen’s cereal box and then goes to bed, a warm, happy smile on his face as he falls asleep.

An hour before the inter-institutional mixer, Jared isn’t quite as happy. Though, truthfully speaking, he’s feeling much better than he would have expected. Knowing that Jensen will be there with him helps, and it also helps that he’s looking forward to being part of the project. He’s met some of the NYU researchers at conferences before and has read articles by a few others – it seems like they found a good mix of varied backgrounds and areas of expertise for their work group. Nevertheless, there’s a knot of anxiety building in his stomach.

Jared’s taking a bottle of water from the fridge, trying to calm his nerves, when Jensen enters the kitchen. 

"Hey," he says.

"Hey." Jared turns around, water bottle in hand, and gives Jensen a once-over. "You look good."

It’s true. Jensen has tamed his usually messy hair with a side part and has trimmed his beard, too. He’s wearing the wire-rimmed glasses they bought together and his clothes are less baggy than usual. His charcoal-colored slacks look nice with the pale-blue shirt that’s only a little too loose instead of two sizes too big like usual. He’s even wearing a belt.

There’s a bit of color rising into Jensen’s cheeks, and he cocks his head in that bashful way he has sometimes. "Thought I’d dress up for the occasion."

"I appreciate it," says Jared, putting the bottle on the counter. "Let’s go."

It goes pretty well, all things considered. They have a nice mid-sized Italian place to themselves, and the group of scientists and significant others is large enough – especially since research assistants and post-grads are invited, too – that Jared doesn’t constantly have to come face-to-face with Lauren and her husband. He and Lauren actually had a decent discussion about some technical details earlier and even made a few minutes of small talk after. Jared is surprised that the sight of Lauren with a wedding ring on her finger doesn’t give him an ache in his chest like he half-expected. It feels awkward, of course, but it doesn’t actually hurt like he thought it would.

Still, Jared’s thankful to have Jensen with him, especially since Jensen turns out to be a pretty fantastic pretend boyfriend. He pulls his chair just a little closer to Jared’s than he usually would, touches Jared and makes eye contact with him a little more frequently than he usually does, but he doesn’t go overboard with the public displays of affection. Jensen makes it easy to follow his lead, makes it feel natural for Jared to wind his arm around the back of Jensen’s chair, to casually smooth down the collar of Jensen’s shirt after dinner and to tell the waiter to hold the artichokes in Jensen’s antipasti platter because Jensen doesn’t like them. 

Jensen seems to enjoy himself, too, and is getting along with both researchers and their partners. He’s friendly, well-read and just the right amount of attentive, and Jared notices how well other people respond to that with a weird sense of … pride, maybe. 

Ayumi, the wife of Jared’s team leader, is so taken with Jensen that she starts telling the story of how she and Arthur met at a Halloween party.

"So there I was at my first college party, all dressed up as Baby Houseman, and _no-one_ knows how to dance the mambo." Her laugh feels especially big coming out of such a petite woman. "And it was 1987, so half the costumes were inspired by Dirty Dancing." She sighs. "I was so disappointed, and I complained about it to my roommate." She makes a dramatic pause. "Maybe five minutes later, a song from the movie starts up and a handsome fighter pilot asks me to dance." She smiles fondly across the table to where her husband is talking to a group of researchers. "And _he_ knew how to mambo."

"That’s a great story," Jensen tells her, smiling, and Jared must have had a little more wine than he’d thought because somehow he finds the story _really_ touching, too. More to distract himself than anything else, he leans towards Jensen and plucks a piece of lint from Jensen’s eyebrow. Jared’s very close when he does it, their noses almost touching, the smell of Jensen’s fabric softener reaching his nostrils.

He holds up his hand to show Jensen, but doesn’t pull back, and their eyes lock. "You had a little fuzz there," Jared says by way of explanation, and his voice comes out quiet.

"Thanks," Jensen says in a lower register than just a moment ago, eyes still fixed on Jared’s, but then he pulls back.

Ayumi is smiling at them. "And what about you two?" she asks. "Did you meet in college, too?"

When they’re back in the apartment, Jared gets two bottles of beer from the fridge and falls down on the couch.

"Thanks, man," he says, giving Jensen a warm smile. "I really appreciate you coming along."

Jensen sits down next to him and accepts his beer. "No problem," he says. Jared notices that Jensen sat down a little further from him than he did at dinner, but he’s still close enough that Jared can see faint freckles dotting his arms now that Jensen has rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. It’s not even summer yet, but when you look closely, they’re everywhere on Jensen’s skin: on the bridge of his nose, on his cheeks and his chin. There are even a few trailing down his neck to where the first couple of Jensen’s shirt buttons are undone. Distantly, Jared wonders if you could feel them if you touched the skin. 

Jared turns on the TV and finds the end of a Bond movie. Soon, he gets more beer from the fridge, and when he sits back down, their shoulders are almost touching. Jared cracks his own bottle, takes a drink and sinks further into the couch until he can feel the warmth of Jensen’s upper arm against his.

Next up is a Justin Timberlake movie, and Jared doesn’t think twice. "Come on, let’s watch this one. I really liked Justin in The Social Network."

He grins encouragingly, and finally Jensen agrees, though he’s not nearly as enthusiastic. Maybe it’s a sign that they’re both a little more drunk than Jared thought because the movie is called Friends With Benefits, and in the back of his head, Jared can think of several reasons why this might be a terrible idea.

And a few reasons why it might be a great one.

For a romantic comedy, it’s not so bad. Some good jokes, some raunchy ones, and fairly early in the film, there’s this one line, uttered by Mila Kunis: "God, I miss sex! Right, I mean, sometimes you just need it. It’s like … it’s like cracking your neck."

When Jensen nods in agreement next to him, Jared can feel the movement because they’re so close. Jared doesn’t really miss going clubbing and, though he always enjoyed it, he has no immediate desire to find a stranger to have sex with, but _God_ it’s nice to feel the presence of someone else’s body against his, to be so close that he can feel Jensen’s body heat. Jensen’s a nice guy with a great voice - tall, a good smile, nice hands.

Jared turns his head. "Maybe they’re onto something," he says and moves his hand a little, just enough to touch Jensen’s thigh.

Jensen simply looks at him, but doesn’t move Jared’s hand away, his eyes so warm and green behind the frame of his glasses. Jared’s mouth goes dry. He’s more than a little drunk and maybe not in the absolutely best emotional state, but he knows enough to be sure that this feels right. "You remember," he starts, then clears his throat, "what I said when I asked you to pose as my boyfriend?"

Jensen keeps looking at him and nods slowly. "Jared, I couldn’t-" he starts, but when he breaks off mid-sentence, Jared’s sure he’s considering it.

Jared’s so aware of everything now, of Jensen’s smell, of the sound of his breathing, how soft the material of his pants feels against Jared’s palm.

"It would complicate things," Jensen says, but there’s no real argument in his voice, and Jared thinks he can see his breathing come a little faster.

"But not if we do it like in the movie," Jared says, his voice – and possibly his brain – feeling a little sluggish from the wine earlier and the beer now. He grins. "It would be mutually beneficial. I mean, we both could use a little stress relief sometimes, don’t you think?"

Jensen turns his body toward Jared, wetting his lips as he does. "Are you sure about that?"

Maybe Jared should have waited for the end of the movie to find out how it worked out for Justin and Mila before he told Jensen that he was, "Absolutely sure."

It takes barely any time at all before they’re making out on Jensen’s bed, touching and exploring each other. Jared’s not exactly sure how they got there, but damn, it feels good to be skin-on-skin with someone again.

Jared never knew Jensen was so soft and smooth all over. His skin is warm and supple, and he smells of this milk and honey shower gel for sensitive skin he always uses. All Jared wants is to lick it off, wants to lick him clean until there’s only the smell of the two of them. Jensen’s hair smells of peaches and green tea because he stole Jared’s shampoo again this morning, and it’s nice and silky and Jared inhales, pressing his chest more tightly against Jensen’s. 

Jensen’s lips are soft, too, pliant and full and yielding under Jared’s, sharing kisses, _making_ kisses together, not trying to dominate or prove anything. Jared’s hand moves from Jensen’s side to his belly, lightly massaging it. It feels good and warm and a little round, but that’s good, too, somehow. Welcoming and homey and hot all at the same time. Just like the little sounds Jensen’s making.

Encouraged, Jared’s fingers follow the trail of hair from Jensen’s navel downward, and even that hair is not coarse, like Jared half-expected, but downy to the touch, and he keeps going lower until the hair isn’t quite as silky anymore, and his hand touches Jensen’s cock. He’s so hard for Jared, and that only makes it better, the head already wet with pre-come. It’s so hot and heavy and, god, it’s big, too, and Jared smiles into the kiss they still share, because he hadn’t really thought about this before, but Jensen’s cock feels fucking perfect in his hand, and he wants to have it in his mouth. 

It’s weird to think it, but he actually wants Jensen to fuck his mouth. Jared didn’t expect this. It’s not his usual style. He prefers being on the receiving end of a blowjob, only giving them to reciprocate when he feels he can’t get away with finishing the guy off with his hand.

But suddenly, going down on Jensen seems like the best fucking idea ever. He quickly pulls off the remainder of Jensen’s clothes and then takes off his own jeans and boxers. When Jensen sees Jared’s cock, he licks his lips. Oh god, those lips that feel so smooth and warm and tender and hot would feel amazing wrapped around Jared’s dick. But before Jensen can do anything, Jared smiles, drops to his knees beside the bed and leans back on his heels, so Jensen is presented with a full, unobstructed view of his cock. He looks up, locking eyes with Jensen and gives himself a nice, languorous stroke.

"I’m gonna suck you now," he says, because _hell yeah_ he’s a talker. "You want that, don’t you?"

"Yeah." Jensen breathes it more than he says it, and when Jared leans forward and catches the tip of Jensen’s dick in his mouth, Jensen’s hands reach for his head. But, surprisingly, Jensen doesn’t fist his hands in Jared’s hair. He doesn’t pull Jared’s head closer, and he doesn’t try to push himself into Jared’s throat. No, Jensen just strokes Jared’s hair and traces Jared’s hairline with his thumbs, murmuring something unintelligible in an insanely sexy voice, soft and broken at the same time. 

And it’s _sweet_ \- almost tender. And unspeakably hot. There’s an edge to Jensen’s voice Jared has never heard before and an abruptness to the movement of his hips that’s also new. It makes Jared want more, makes him want to push, to get Jensen to lose control. He sucks more and more of Jensen into his mouth, covers with his hand what he can’t cover with his mouth. He makes obscene slurping sounds and feels his own spit run down his chin, and it should make him feel stupid, but it only makes the experience hotter.

And, best of all, it gets to Jensen, too. Jensen, who’s still not forcing his cock down Jared’s throat, but who is clearly about to lose it. Jensen, who can’t stop saying Jared’s name, every word a plea now. 

"God, Jared. Please. Jared, fuck. Jared. Yeah, yeah, Jared. Right there. Jared, oh god." 

And it makes Jared want to do all he can to hear him say it again and again and again.

Then Jensen says, "God, Jared, I’m gonna, I’m gonna," and tries to pull away, and Jared’s never done this before, he’s always pulled off, but this time he only sucks harder, giving it all he’s got until Jensen’s coming into his mouth with a shout. Jared coughs and sputters a little, not used to the situation, but part of him loves it. Loves how much come there is, how it floods his mouth and mixes with his saliva and runs down his chin, how it’s Jensen’s taste and scent filling his senses. 

Jared doesn’t make a conscious decision to touch his own cock, but once he’s got his hand on himself, it only takes a few quick and dirty strokes until he’s done, coming against the side of Jensen’s bed.

When Jensen’s a little more conscious again, he motions down to Jared’s cock with a questioning look, but Jared stands up instead, feeling a heavy-lidded smile on his face. "Already taken care of," he says, and his voice sounds rough, sounds used.

Giving in to an impulse, Jared gives Jensen another deep and slow kiss, sharing the taste of Jensen’s come with him, before he falls next to Jensen on the bed. Groggily, he thinks about getting up and going to his own room, but when Jensen’s arm moves across his chest and their legs tangle, it feels too good, warm and sleepy and sexy, to think about leaving. Besides, they might always be up for round two later.

The next morning, Jared slowly wakes up to noise coming from the kitchen. He snuggles back into the sheets, breathing in deeply. He feels good, relaxed like he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Then, abruptly, he remembers what happened and where he is exactly.

Jared tries to calm his suddenly racing heart. There’s no reason for him to be weird about this. It was just an arrangement among friends, after all. So what if he’d liked it _a lot_ more than he’d expected? Of course he liked it, it was sex – everybody likes sex. It’s not like that makes it mean anything.

Jared pushes away the memory of the way Jensen smelled, the way he’d felt under Jared’s hands, the way he’d moaned out Jared’s name.

He gets up and puts on last night’s clothes. Even though Jensen’s seen him in just a shirt and boxers countless times, this morning Jared doesn’t want to leave this room without proper clothes on. 

In the kitchen, he finds Jensen humming and making eggs and bacon for breakfast. There’s orange juice at the ready and a few pop-tarts next to the toaster. It looks cozy, warm, welcoming. Impossibly domestic.

Domestic bliss, isn’t that what he’d said to Jensen?

There’s a panicky feeling rising in Jared’s gut. He can’t stop thinking about how much he used to love weekends with Lauren. How they had breakfast and shared the paper and maybe made out a little in the kitchen. The truth is, with Lauren, Jared never saw the end coming. He’d thought things were perfect, was planning their happily ever after, while she was already thinking about leaving. Jared has no radar, no bullshit meter that tells him when things are about to fall apart, slip right through his fingers.

Jared feels so completely _helpless_ all of a sudden, and it crashes over him like a wave. 

Things between Jensen and him were so good, and here Jared had to go and mess it up, bring sex into the equation and complicate everything. Of course sex complicates things, there’s no such thing as _just sex_. He likes Jensen, really _likes_ Jensen, and now Jared’s whole body is seizing up, warning him that this could be it, this could be everything, and Jared will never be able to tell if things are about to go horribly wrong.

Jared tries to keep his expression neutral and his voice calm, but he’s not sure he’s pulling it off. 

"I’m sorry," he says. 

"What?" Jensen asks, smiling confusedly, spatula still in hand.

"I really thought I could do it, but I can’t," Jared says, although he knows that doesn’t really explain anything. 

He wants to say something to Jensen, but all the words he can think of seem to stick in his throat. Suddenly, surprisingly and without warning, there’s too much at stake. He quickly strides to the door and grabs his keys, phone and wallet. 

"What-" Jensen says in a voice Jared can’t read. "What do you mean?"

Jared looks at him. He wants to say that he’s sorry again, but it sounds so empty in his head. Instead, he gives an apologetic shrug and a pleading look. Once he gets some fresh air he’ll be able to explain. He just needs some fresh air, that’s all. Jensen will understand.

"Fuck," he mumbles as he opens the security lock, "this was such a big mistake."

If Jensen hears him or says anything in return, Jared doesn’t hear him. He’s already pulled the door shut.

Once he’s outside, Jared has no idea where to go. He starts walking around aimlessly, his thoughts in turmoil. He’s not wearing enough clothes for the crisp spring morning, but he barely notices the chill in the air. He can’t stop thinking in endless and confusing circles: the wedding ring on Lauren’s finger, Jensen’s hand on Jared’s thigh, Jensen blinking at Jared for the first time through his new wire frames, Jensen arching underneath him, Lauren making breakfast in the kitchen she and Jared arranged together, Jensen working magic on Lauren’s coffee maker, Jensen making breakfast in his pajamas –

When, after maybe half an hour, his phone rings, Jared glances down at the display. It’s Jensen. Of course it would be. Something rises up in Jared’s gut and he guiltily turns off the ringer. 

Jensen must be sitting at home thinking Jared’s an asshole. He probably thinks Jared is exactly the guy Jared has been trying so hard not to be anymore: the guy who values sex over friendship, the guy who will take anyone to bed with him, the Slutty Professor. Jared feels guilt and shame claw up his spine, and he can’t call Jensen back yet, he can’t. It’s not like that, not at all, but Jared needs to figure out what exactly it _is_ like before he can brace himself to see the disappointment on Jensen’s face.

He stops at a small diner where he gets a breakfast burrito that smells much less appealing than what Jensen had been cooking at home. It turns out to taste pretty awful, too. Appropriate, Jared thinks, and wolfs it down anyway.

His thoughts are so tangled, he keeps himself busy trying _not_ to think, to just calm down and pull himself out of this weird emotional funk. Once he has the chance to think everything through, he knows he can make it right again.

Yes, he thinks. Maybe that would be a good idea: give them both a bit of a break from each other, a day or two without being a constant presence in each other’s lives.

And then, when Jared has figured himself out, when he has a plan to make everything okay again, he can come home and they can talk. Jensen will have the chance to calm down, too, to work out what he feels.

The more Jared thinks about it, the more he likes the idea.

Cool off, calm down, gain some perspective. It’s not running away, it’s a strategic retreat.

Before he can second guess himself, he finds a mid-priced hotel on his phone (well, mid-priced for New York, anyway) and books a room for the next two nights. He doesn’t have any appointments at work until Monday afternoon and he knows Jensen doesn’t either. That seems like a good timeframe: two days for them both to figure themselves out.

When he gets out his phone again to text Jensen, his battery is already dangerously low – and of course he doesn’t have his charger with him.

He sends Jensen a text, letting him know that he'll be gone for the weekend, but that they’ll definitely talk on Monday. He adds that his battery is dying, and that he’s sorry. Again. 

Then he goes to find the hotel and doesn’t leave his room until Monday.

It takes Jared more than a day, a lot longer than it should, in retrospect, to figure out what the real problem is.

It’s not that he complicated things by adding sex to a great friendship. 

It’s that what’s between him and Jensen stopped feeling like mere friendship a long time ago. For Jared, anyway. When the realization hits him, the first thing he does is laugh, feeling it well up almost hysterically.

He remembers how Chad had told him he was acting like a boyfriend. That was months ago. Hell, Jared himself told Jensen what a great couple they’d make, how Jensen was exactly the type of boyfriend Jared would want Lauren to see him with. 

He feels so incredibly stupid.

Things between him and Jensen are not about Lauren, and it’s not that Jensen is _exactly the type_ of boyfriend Jared would want. Instead, Jensen’s _exactly the person_ Jared wants. 

When he thinks about it, about the way Jensen, too, let their lives get so intertwined, he can’t help thinking that Jensen feels more than just friendship for him, too. 

Jared’s been so afraid of making any kind of commitment ever since the divorce, to his friends, to his job, to his one-night stands, and still he stumbled into this relationship with Jensen without even realizing it. No matter what, Jared decides, these … these feelings he has when he thinks about Jensen, when he remembers Jensen’s smile and his voice and the deadpan way he delivers a joke – it’s worth taking a risk.

He has to tell Jensen, to lay it all out and see if Jensen feels the same.

Once he’s made the decision, something in his chest grows light and he smiles. For the first time since he woke up alone in Jensen’s bed, he feels hope. He can hardly wait to talk to Jensen tomorrow.

On Monday, his clothes freshly washed and pressed by the obscenely-priced room service, Jared feels equal parts happy and nervous on his way home.

On a whim, he gets a box of pastries from this place Jensen loves and also buys a bag of their custom-roasted coffee beans.

It’s going to be okay, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. He’s been an idiot, but Jensen will forgive him. It’s all going to work out.

When he opens the door, he immediately knows that something’s not quite right. It’s only small things in the entryway, the kitchen and the living room, tiny details that feel off, but when Jared reaches the door to Jensen’s room, which is wide open, the weird feeling in his gut is confirmed in the worst possible way.

The room is empty. Jensen has moved out.

Jared can’t believe it. This was Jensen’s home only two days ago, and now there is nothing left of him in the spare bedroom. No bed, no bookshelves with his scores and scores of books, no desk, no nightstand. Not even a stray sock in his closet. It’s like he never even lived here.

It’s the same in the other rooms: the additional pots, pans, plates and silverware – all gone. Even that ridiculous Hello Kitty mug Jensen’s sister gave him as a birthday present is nowhere to be found. Jensen’s quilt on the couch and his favorite cushion are gone, just like his share of DVDs, Blu-rays and computer games. He even took his half-full bottles of shampoo and shower gel. The apartment looks empty. It’s surreal.

The only thing that’s left of Jensen is an envelope and a note on the kitchen counter. The note has no salutation. It simply reads:

"There’s two months’ worth of rent in the envelope – the penalty amount for moving out without notice. If there’s anything broken, or that needs fixing or repainting, the money can be taken out of the deposit. If any of the deposit is left after that, please send a check to my office address."

Jensen didn’t even sign it.

Jared feels … 

Hell, he doesn’t even know how he feels. He’s just so … empty. 

It’s all of his worst fears coming true. Jensen just up and left and Jared was so stupid, so blinded, he didn’t even see it coming. Just like he didn’t see it coming when Lauren walked out the door.

He throws the pastries and the coffee in the trash and brings it out on his way to the office. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to work, but he can’t be in the apartment right now.

When Jensen’s phone goes straight to voicemail five times in a row, Jared’s pretty sure it’s on purpose, and so he decides not contact Jensen for a few days. Maybe Jensen just needs some more time – just because it only took Jared a weekend to work out what he wants, that doesn’t mean Jensen managed to work it out, too. He probably just needs another day or two.

Jared’s not quite sure he believes that himself, though. He feels even more confused than before. He’s angry at Jensen for leaving like that, for walking out without a word of warning, but he’s also angry at himself for running away in the first place. But even if Jensen was mad at Jared for that, he can’t understand why Jensen went to the lengths of moving out. If they could just meet up and talk, he’s almost sure they could straighten everything out. Shout at one another, get it all out, and then kiss and make up. 

God, Jared hopes Jensen wants to kiss and make up.

All day, every time Jared’s computer pings with a new email, or his phone buzzes, he half-hopes it’s Jensen, but it never is.

After three days, Jared can't stand it any longer. Whatever reason Jensen has for this communication blackout, Jared has to talk to him. He at least needs to apologize for running away like he did. They were amazing roommates and even better friends, and even if Jensen _doesn’t_ want a relationship, they shouldn’t throw all of their history together away. 

As a first gesture, Jared writes a check for the full amount of Jensen's deposit, adds it to the envelope of money Jensen left him and drops it off at the English department's office. He half-wants to just go by Jensen’s office and look for him, but he’s too afraid that Jensen will blow him off, will refuse to talk to him. So instead, he puts a handwritten note in the envelope.

Dear Jensen,  
I am so very sorry for the way I behaved, but I’ve come back to my senses, I promise. Please, let’s just meet up for coffee somewhere and talk.  
I miss you,  
Jared

The next day, the envelope with the money – minus the note – is sitting in his inbox at the office, and Jared's heart sinks. Jensen's obviously not ready to talk, and there’s only a few days now before Jared has to leave for France. He doesn't want to leave without talking to Jensen, without making things right. He doesn't want to leave and know that Jensen won't be in the apartment when he comes back. He crumples the the envelope in his hand, and balls his hands into fists. He’s such an idiot. He must have hurt Jensen really badly – which, honestly, should have been obvious as soon as he saw that Jensen had worked day and night just to finish moving out before Jared got back.

He sends Jensen a text: "I’m a jerk and I’m sorry. I don’t care about the money, I just miss you. Please, let’s talk, so I can apologize in person for screwing up. You’re my best friend – Jared." 

He receives no response.

So Jared tries calling again and sends more texts and writes Jensen several emails, too. At this point, all he wants is to get through to him. 

Finally, Jared finds Danneel’s number and calls her. She's Jensen's best friend, and he just hopes that she knows something, anything, and that she can at least let him know how Jensen’s doing. If Jared can make her believe how sorry he is, maybe she could even convince Jensen to listen to Jared. It’s a long shot, but he has to try. When she answers and realizes who’s calling, it’s obvious she’s torn between hanging up and cussing him out.

"I don't know what you did to him," she says, "but he won't even talk to me about it, so it must be bad." Her voice gets louder, more insistent. "He doesn't want to hear from you, so just stay the hell away from him." Then she hangs up on him.

Jensen’s always been pretty tight-lipped about his feelings, Jared knows that. It makes his throat tight to know that Jensen’s not even talking to Danneel about the situation. It makes him sad and guilty to know that he hurt Jensen so badly and sad for Jensen that he doesn't feel he can talk to anyone about it. It's such a mess – and he has to leave for France tomorrow.

In his last email before leaving, Jared invites Jensen to join him in Paris any time and offers to pay for a hotel room if Jensen doesn’t want to stay at Jared's apartment. Just thinking about all the plans they’d made for their time in France hurts. Jensen was so excited about this trip, and they’d come up with so many places to visit. The idea that it might not happen at all makes Jared’s chest ache.

Paris is an amazing city. The work environment is challenging but friendly, and most people seem very invested in the project. There are several international colleagues staying nearby, and their hosts have organized a few daytrips and sight-seeing tours for all of them. Jared's glad for the distraction, but every time he recognizes a building or a museum from the plans he and Jensen made, his heart turns over a little. And when he's alone in his apartment, he has to force himself to not bombard Jensen with phone calls and texts and emails.

Finally, he decides on a schedule of sending Jensen one email per week – as well as the occasional postcard to Jensen’s office address. Not enough to come across like a stalker, but regularly enough to show Jensen he cares and wants to salvage their friendship. At least, he hopes that Jensen understands it that way. 

And yes, it’s true, Jensen is still not responding. But as long as he doesn't explicitly tell Jared to stop, Jared can't stop trying.

He’s at a point where he just wants to _talk_ to Jensen, no matter the outcome. He misses him, and he wants Jensen to know why he left, that it was never really about Jensen at all, but about Jared’s own confused feelings – and that Jared didn’t even realize at the time how much he’d hurt his best friend. He just wants to say, "I’m sorry," and know that Jensen heard him. It’s not a perfect apology, but it’s the truth, and Jensen should at least _know_. And maybe, after, they can build on that, and maybe Jensen can trust him again some time, so they can become friends again. His feelings for Jensen are still much stronger than that, but at this point, he just wants Jensen to be a part of his life in whatever way he can get him.

In July, his new colleagues throw him a birthday party. They’ve become a pretty tight-knit group over the past two months, and an occasion to celebrate after a work-filled day is always welcome.

When Jared arrives at his apartment that night, he’s stuffed full of a four-course dinner and delicious tart and more than ready to fall into bed. He has to go to work in the morning, after all. 

He’s just pulled off his jeans and shirt when his phone rings, and for a crazy moment, he thinks that it’s Jensen, and he lunges for the phone before it can stop ringing.

It’s Chad – and Jared’s a little proud of him because it’s half past eleven in Paris, which means that Chad seriously tried to take into account the time difference to Europe. Jared also wants to cry, and it doesn’t take long for Chad to figure out what’s up.

"Jared," he says earnestly. "You have to let this go."

Jared doesn’t respond.

"It’s your birthday, you had fun with great people tonight, and when you get a call from the US, it all goes to shit because ‘Oh my god, maybe it’s Jensen.’ That’s not healthy." Chad’s concern is real, and the worry in his voice only makes Jared feel worse.

"I know," Jared says, sighing deeply, because he does know Chad’s right - in theory, "but I just can’t stop thinking about how I screwed up a good thing – again. I just need to make him understand why."

"I don’t like being the one to tell you this, especially on your birthday, but it’s been a long time, and you should maybe just accept the fact that he won’t _ever_ talk to you again."

That is a truly scary thought. "I can’t," Jared says. "If I could just talk to him, if I could just explain to him in person-"

Chad cuts him off. "I’ll make you a deal," he says. "When do classes start at Columbia?"

"Early September, why?"

Chad ignores him. "Okay, good," he says, "you have until the end of August. If you can’t make him listen to you by then, you will _let this go_."

Jared protests. "But then he’ll never know, and I want him to-"

Chad’s voice is firm when he says, "Then send him a letter or post a video on YouTube or do whatever you have to do to get it out of your system." He huffs. "Otherwise, _I_ will call _you_ every half hour and remind you of our deal."

Jared’s a little sorry to leave Paris and the other researchers a month later. They didn’t quite stick to the schedule and milestones – which project ever does? – but they got some exciting work done, and he looks forward to continue working with them, even if it’s going to be mostly through email from now on.

Coming home to an empty apartment makes everything that happened feel real again. He won’t get to tell Jensen about his experiences or show him photos or explain study designs and set-ups to him.

Jared has faithfully kept to his regular "one email per week" schedule, but now that he’s back in New York, he decides to try calling again. It feels a little pathetic, but it’s still August, so he hasn’t reached Chad’s arbitrary deadline yet, and anyway, he can at least listen to Jensen’s voice on his voicemail. The phone rings for a long time, and just when Jared expects it to go to voicemail, someone picks up. 

_Jensen_ picks up.

"Hi, Jared," he says and his voice sounds impossibly formal. Jared's so surprised, he almost forgets to breathe.

"Hi, Jensen," he says, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "I'm so glad you answered."

"I almost didn't," Jensen says shortly.

"Yeah." Jared swallows. "Of course. I'm so sorry, I really am so sorry."

"What do you want, Jared?"

There are so many answers to that question, and Jared finds it hard to say anything. "I just- I want to talk to you. Please. I want to explain and apologize."

There's a long pause and then Jensen says slowly, "Okay. When and where?"

"I, uh. How about The Shulmann?" It's a nice restaurant, a bit on the fancy side, and Jared remembers reading a good review of it in the Times. "At seven tonight - or any other day, if you can't tonight. I just got back from Paris, I don't have any plans for this week yet." He's rambling, but he's just so _relieved_. It feels almost unreal to hear Jensen’s voice, to think that Jared’s going to get to see him again, that he’ll finally get the chance to make this right between them.

"Tonight is okay, but make it eight. I have a meeting at six," Jensen says and before Jared can say anything, he hangs up.

Turns out that The Shulmann is so popular that it doesn't even take reservations. So, in order to make absolutely sure he won't mess this up and that they'll have a table, Jared shows up at six in a nice suit and tie. It's after seven by the time he gets seated and half past when the waiter tells him in polite, but no uncertain terms, that he has to order more than just a glass of water if he wants to keep the table. So Jared orders a bottle of hideously expensive wine just to get him off his back. He usually prefers red, but he decides on a white, both to stop himself from drinking it all before Jensen arrives and also in case he happens to spill some.

It's after eight and every minute that goes by makes Jared more nervous. He contemplates calling Jensen, but after everything, he doesn't want to seem pushy. At ten past eight, he receives a text. Jared’s heart is hammering even before he looks at the display. It's from Jensen. _Please don't cancel, please don't cancel, please don't cancel_ , Jared thinks and steels himself with some more wine before he reads it. "Meeting ran over. Am on my way, but will be late."

Jared sighs with relief, even though his stomach doesn’t stop flip-flopping. He knows faculty meetings; they run late all the time. When the waiter comes by and pours some more wine, Jared doesn't object. Jensen will be here soon.

A while later, Jared looks up to see a waiter leading a new patron towards his table. The man is tall and lean in a smart dark suit and white shirt with the collar undone just enough to catch a glimpse of the hollow of his throat. He’s clean-shaven, lightly tanned and his hair is artfully mussed. His high-cut cheekbones seem to emphasize the green of his eyes and how long his lashes are.

Jared would recognize those eyes anywhere. They're dark green with gold flecks that mirror the light freckles on the guy’s face. _Jensen's_ face.

Only this man doesn't really look like Jensen. He doesn't look like The Viking either, who seemed so attractive and happy and alive in those pictures Mackenzie showed him.

This guy looks suave and self-assured and fashionable. More like a male model than an English professor. Jared doesn't know what to think, and when Jensen reaches his table, Jared gets up to shake his hand on autopilot more than anything else.

"Hi Jensen," he says, his mouth dry. "It's good to see you."

"Hi," Jensen says, and for just a moment, his expression softens, becomes familiar again.

They both order dinner, and Jared is surprised when Jensen only orders a salad. 

Jensen takes a sip of his wine. "I already had a big lunch," he explains, which Jared is pretty sure is a phrase he has never heard Jensen say before. It feels unbearably awkward, to have Jensen here in front of him, but not to feel like this is _his_ Jensen at all. 

It makes Jared feel weird, off-balance. He can’t figure out a way to turn the conversation to what happened between them, and Jensen doesn’t bring it up either, so they end up just making a bit of small talk with Jensen asking him about Paris and casually mentioning his plans to run in the New York marathon this November. A _marathon_ , for Christ's sake. From the most devout member of the pop-tarts fan club.

The waiter keeps circling back to their table more often since Jensen arrived, and he's directing most of his words at Jensen, too. While that in itself annoys Jared, what annoys him even more is that Jensen seems to be flirting back. Jensen barely makes eye contact with Jared, refuses to say anything of substance, and yet he smiles and winks at their waiter. Jared’s throat closes up and he clenches his hands into fists under the table. It’s _his_ job to apologize, Jared knows that, but somehow he can’t find a way to get out the apology he’s been so desperate to make. This isn’t Jensen, Jared thinks, this is like a robot version of Jensen, and he’s nothing like the person Jared knows at all.

When Jared comes back from the restroom, he’s just in time to see the waiter slip Jensen what he assumes is the waiter's number, and it feels like a punch in the gut. Jared snaps.

He sits down in his chair and says coldly, "What do you want from people like that?"

"People like who?" Jensen asks with a smile that tells Jared he knows _exactly_ what Jared is talking about.

"People like that waiter – or like that pretty server earlier," Jared says, trying to keep his voice steady. "People who wouldn't even have looked at you four months ago before you-" Jared waves a dismissive hand at Jensen's new appearance. "Reinvented yourself, or whatever you think this is."

Jensen’s eyes grow cold, but he doesn't say anything, and that makes Jared feel helpless again. He was determined to make things right tonight, but instead he can’t seem to connect with Jensen at all. "I _know_ you, Jensen," he pleads. "I know who you really are. Just-" he shrugs his shoulders, searching for words. "With me, you don't have to pretend to be something you're not."

The cold in Jensen's eyes is replaced by something dark and hot. "Oh," he says, his words like needle pricks. "Because you know me so well. Because, clearly, when I'm not what you expect me to be, I must be pretending." 

Jensen's voice slides into a mock-casual register when he adds, "And yeah, speaking of pretending. Last time I checked, _you_ were the one who asked me to pretend to be your boyfriend, so your ex-wife wouldn't see how pathetic you are."

Jared clenches his teeth. He's never heard Jensen sound like that, and it hits him deep in his chest, shock and hurt mingling inside him, and he doesn't have a comeback at all. 

"And it's rich that you of all people are trying to tell me I shouldn’t work out and take care of myself because it’s not who I ‘really am.’ You, after all, _always_ make sure to get in your morning run and hours at the gym, to touch up your haircut and buy new, fashionable clothes - because you, _my friend_ ," Jensen spits the word out like it's poison, "are more obsessed with the way you look and the way other people see you than anyone else I know." 

And then Jensen twists the knife. "But hey, I understand. You're probably just afraid that whatever else you have to offer – it's not worth anyone's time."

Jared sits shell-shocked, unable to move or speak. He's never seen Jensen like this. Never.

Calmly and slowly, Jensen gets up. He throws his napkin on his plate and says, "I trust you will get the check."

Then he walks out.

For a while, Jared just sits there, numbly, before he finally gives in to the glares the staff are directing his way, pays the outrageous check and leaves. He even adds a twenty percent tip for the waiter.

He wishes he could be angry because that would still be better than feeling the way he does now. Jensen hurt him deeply and in a way Jared would never have expected, but that's not even the problem. The problem is that Jared brought it upon himself.

He had asked and asked and asked again for Jensen to give him this chance to repair what had gone wrong between them, and then he was the one who messed it up out of ... 

It hits him like the surprise it really shouldn't be. He messed it up out of jealousy. Pure and simple. It wasn’t just because Jensen wasn’t _himself_ anymore. It was because Jensen was himself in a way that made people turn their heads, a way that made servers fawn over him and waiters slip him their numbers – and Jared just couldn’t handle it. Yes, sure, he realized that he’s attracted to Jensen months ago, but until now he wasn’t really feeling a lot of competition.

It’s so damn petty.

He spent months trying so desperately to get back in touch with Jensen and he blew it. The regular emails and the postcards, the sorrow and wistfulness every time something reminded him of Jensen, and he let petty jealousy get in the way. 

Jensen is the best roommate Jared ever had, and the most amazing friend. He’s become such an integral part of Jared’s life that, after over three months without so much as a word, Jared never gave up hope of reconciliation. He’d give anything for Jensen to be present in his life. 

And instead of telling him that, instead of groveling and apologizing and trying to reestablish a connection, he criticized Jensen and put him down. Yeah, Jensen poked him right where it hurt the worst, but he wasn't wrong. That's what actually pains Jared the most. Jensen wasn't wrong.

This time, Jared doesn't email or text or try to call. He wants to, of course. He wants to so much. But one of the things he realizes is that this shouldn't be about what _he_ wants. Jensen has every right to never want to see Jared again, and if that's the one little thing Jared can give him, to leave him be and not bother him with apologies that Jensen probably wouldn't believe at this point anyway, then that's what he's going to do.

Jared just wishes that they had a mutual friend, so he could ask for occasional updates, or that Jensen at least was on Facebook. Then Jared wouldn’t feel shut out so completely.

At least he’s not falling into old habits again, but tries to stay focused on his research output and his classes. His friendship with Misha and Vicky also helps, surprisingly, even though Misha is probably fed up with how often Jared mentions Jensen – and, yes, okay, maybe also poured out his heart about all the mistakes he’s made a time or two.

One evening, Jared's having dinner with Misha at a cheap Vietnamese restaurant that Vicky discovered and which serves the best spring rolls in New York City.

Misha has an early start tomorrow, so it’s only a little past nine when they’re both taking out their phones to find a date for next time.

"Monday night?" Jared asks.

"Dance class with Vicky."

"Wednesday morning?"

"Project meeting."

"Thursday night?"

"Intra-faculty soccer," Misha says and his face takes on a weird expression. "What about Friday?"

"Can’t," Jared says. "LAS-AR dinner." Then adds, "I didn’t know there was an intra-faculty soccer team."

"Yeah," Misha says. "It’s nothing official, nothing competitive."

"Sounds fun," Jared says. "Maybe I should come with."

Misha squirms a little in his seat. "Maybe," he says uneasily, "that’s not such a good idea."

Jared looks up. "Why not?"

Misha intently looks at his own hands when he says, "Because Jensen will be there."

"What?" Jared almost shouts.

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it," Misha says, "but I didn’t want to get in the middle of things." 

For an exhilarating moment, Jared thinks about how he could just show up for practice and Jensen would be there, and they would both pretend to be fine and play soccer and maybe, slowly but surely, they'd become friends again. 

But that’s not what would happen, of course he knows that.

"So," he says in a fake-casual tone, "how's Jensen doing these days?"

Misha rolls his eyes. "You two, seriously," he says, and the vehemence in his voice surprises Jared. "It's been _forever_ , Jared," he adds, insisting. "You need to finally let this go, both of you." 

Jared slumps his shoulders. On some level, he knows Misha's right. He knows that some things can't be fixed, and that he should be at a stage by now where he's at least trying to move on. 

Then he replays Misha’s words in his head, and realization sets in.

"Jensen asks about me, too," he says, and it's not a question. "He's still thinking about me, too." A weird mixture of dread and elation fills his gut.

Misha looks at him guiltily, but he doesn’t deny it.

All this time, Jared thinks, his head spinning. All this time, he thought Jensen had forgotten him, dismissed him, moved on, good riddance. He thought he was alone in feeling this edge of emptiness in his chest whenever he plays Halo or tries to make coffee in his stupidly expensive coffee-maker or thinks of the way Jensen laughs. But if there is even a chance that Jensen misses him, too, that Jensen isn’t over him yet, isn’t over their friendship, at least, Jared has to grab hold of it with both hands.

Jared feels a strange, consuming sense of urgency. If they’re both still hurting, he wants to settle this right now.

"Misha," he says earnestly. "I know I behaved badly and I hurt Jensen. I don't expect anything of him, I swear. All I want is to apologize properly." He swallows. "Just, if you know, tell me where I can find him, so I can try and make this right. If it doesn’t work, I promise you, I won't bother you or him about it ever again."

Misha takes a deep breath. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

Turns out that Jensen is house-sitting for Danneel and Aldis in his old home in Ronkonkoma. Jared checks the railroad schedule on his phone and finds out that the next train out that way leaves Penn Station in five minutes. There’s no way he’s going to make it. And the train after that doesn’t leave for over an hour.

He needs to see Jensen, needs to see him now. And he most definitely _doesn’t_ need to put Jensen in a bad mood by showing up in the middle of the night.

Hell, Jared decides, he’s going to take a cab. He’ll just have to make sure the driver takes credit cards.

A good hour later, he forks over his Visa for the one hundred-and-twenty dollar fare and watches the cab driver speed away as he stands in front of Danneel’s house.

Jensen’s in there. Jensen, who’s still talking about him, still thinking about him. At least, sometimes.

Jared’s throat is tight and his stomach lurches, but if he doesn’t do this now, he might not do it at all, so he walks up the steps to the porch and rings the doorbell.

After a minute or two, Jensen opens the door. A weird feeling of relief floods Jared when he sees him. Jensen's still more in shape than he was when they first met, but he’s not the fashionably-dressed muscled-up model from the restaurant anymore. He’s barefoot, wearing soft-looking jeans and a grey Mets t-shirt that says "Rub some dirt on it." His face is a bit stubbly and his hair messy, not in a ‘straight out of GQ magazine’ kind of way, but in a way that is more … Jensen. And he’s wearing glasses again, the metal-rimmed ones they bought together.

The tightness in Jared’s throat doesn’t go away, but he has to speak. "Please don’t shut the door in my face," he says. "I know I deserve it, but please don’t."

"Okay," Jensen says, but he keeps blocking the door with his body.

"I just," Jared starts. "I just wanted to apologize to you one more time."

Jensen doesn’t say anything, but he nods and his face is not as closed-off as it was at the restaurant. Jared’s heart speeds up.

"I was a complete dick. I screwed up before Paris, and when you finally gave me a chance to apologize, I screwed up even worse." It’s tempting to talk about his own pain, to tell Jensen about how he felt, but if Jared’s serious about making things right with Jensen, he can’t make it about himself again. That’s exactly the point where he messed up before.

"I could give you a list of reasons I came up with in the last few months for why I acted the way I did, but the truth is that I can’t explain it because there’s no scenario in which it was okay," Jared says instead.

"Okay," Jensen says, and it sounds a little softer.

"I just wanted to tell you that I’m honestly, truly sorry, and that I want you to be happy." Jared gives Jensen a smile that’s genuine, even though he feels so lost, so at sea right now. It’s the truth, after all: he really does want Jensen to be happy.

"The way I acted was unforgivable, and I don’t really have hope that things will ever be the way they were again. But I want you to know how incredibly sorry I am for the way I hurt you. I was selfish. You were – you are – one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and I should never have let my own issues get in the way of our friendship."

He takes a deep breath. "I wanted to come see you a thousand times, show up for your office hours or after your class lets out or whatever, but I was a coward, too," he says. "As much as I wanted to apologize, I didn’t want to risk you sending me away."

He wants to look Jensen in the eye, but he can’t.

"And if you ever want to have me in your life again, in any capacity, just let me know. Acquaintance, friend," Jared stops, but he has to say it, at least once, "not-pretend boyfriend. I probably don’t deserve to be any of these things, and I don’t want to pressure you, but I do want you to know that I’m here, and that, if it’s what you want, too, I’d really like to have a chance to be part of your life again." Jared’s voice sounds strange in his own ears, brittle, but he’s almost overwhelmed by the sense of relief he feels that he got the chance to get it all out.

"Jared," Jensen says, and it’s good to hear Jensen say his name again. "I appreciate you coming here," he says in quiet voice. "But I can’t decide that yet. I just don’t know."

And yeah, it hurts, but it’s also worth it to feel that Jensen at least doesn’t seem to completely despise him, to know that Jensen was willing to hear him out and that he actually values the fact that Jared came here.

Jared takes a deep breath and gives him a wistful smile. "It’s okay. I’m glad you heard me out." He gives a nod down the road. "The train station is that way, right?"

"Yeah," Jensen says, "fifteen minutes down the road, maybe twenty." It’s a safe neighborhood, and Jared figures the walk might do him some good.

"Thanks, Jensen." Jared looks up at him and gives him one last smile. "Good night."

"Good night," Jensen says and closes the door.

When Jared arrives at the station, it’s completely empty and the schedule says that the next train to the city will be another forty minutes. It’s not like he can do anything about it, and he can’t really afford another one-hundred-and-twenty dollar cab ride, so he sits down on one of the wooden benches.

It’s like something has settled inside of him. Jensen looked good, more comfortable and more himself – like he’s happy. Jared’s glad he came out here tonight, even if in his heart he might have wished for a different, movie-style ending. In the rational part of mind he knows that the loss and melancholy he feels will fade, eventually, even if it doesn’t feel like it now.

He’s been sitting there for some time, a quarter of an hour, maybe, when someone sits down next to him on the bench. Jared doesn’t look up until the other person extends a hand towards him, holding a cup of coffee.

"Jensen," he says as he takes the coffee. It’s surprising how faint his voice sounds.

Jensen gives him a small smile and then quickly looks away. "I made myself a deal," he says, apropos of nothing. "If I waited ten minutes before I left the house and then drove to the diner to get some coffee, and only _then_ drove to the station to look for you and you would still be there, it would be a sign."

There’s something light growing inside Jared and he smiles. "A sign for what?"

"That we should talk," Jensen says. "That I should tell you some things, too." He clears his throat, still staring at the tracks and not at Jared. "I rigged it, though."

"Oh?"

"I’ve lived out here for so long, I still know when the trains run," Jensen explains.

"Oh," Jared says, not a question this time.

"You hurt me," Jensen says. "You hurt me very much." He swallows, and Jared nods, doesn’t trust himself to speak. "But I also hurt myself. I shouldn’t have agreed to be your pretend partner, and I shouldn’t have had sex with you because of that stupid Justin Timberlake movie. And I also shouldn’t have flirted with that waiter just to make you jealous."

"You wanted to make me jealous?" Jared says in a small voice.

"Yeah," Jensen says, like it should be obvious. "I was so hung up on you, I went to the gym like a crazy person, and I ate horrible low-fat, low-carb, low-everything foods, and I paid someone - _paid_ her – to give me a make-over, just so I would be irresistible, and you’d be sorry." He chuckles, and it’s a little bitter, but it’s mostly self-deprecating in that familiar Jensen way that Jared missed so much.

"I was sorry long before we met at that restaurant," Jared says.

"That’s not the kind of sorry I wanted you to feel," Jensen admits.

Jared shakes his head. "But I think it was," he says. "When I came back to our apartment that Monday, I had it all figured out. I’d tell you that I was sorry and that I wanted to be more than friends because, really, that’s exactly what it had already felt like for a while." He looks at Jensen earnestly and really wants to reach out and grab Jensen’s hand, but he knows it’s not his place. "I’ve wanted you for myself for a long time because you’re funny and you’re smart and you’re kind and my life is so much better with you in it." It’s Jared’s turn to give a self-deprecating chuckle. "And all that was before I even knew how great you were in bed." 

There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of Jensen’s lips.

"You were the best friend I ever had, and when we had sex and that was amazing, too, and it made me feel things I thought wouldn’t be part of my life anymore," Jared goes on. "And that scared the shit out of me." He looks directly at Jensen and adds, "But not anymore."

"No?" Jensen asks, and he’s looking, really looking at Jared for the first time tonight.

"No." Jared shakes his head.

Jensen puts down his coffee cup and slowly, almost tentatively, he moves closer to Jared. When he’s so close to Jared that they can’t even look at each other without going cross-eyed, Jensen asks, "Is this a bad idea?" His voice is a little rough and vulnerable, too.

"For me it’s not," Jared says truthfully. "I think it’s the best idea." 

He holds his breath, afraid that Jensen might change his mind, might pull away. For an endless moment, neither of them moves, and then, carefully, Jensen bridges the gap between them.

The kiss is soft and slow, just their lips moving together. It’s perfect.

Jensen gets up and takes Jared’s hand. "I’m not promising anything," he says, "but you can have the couch tonight, if you’d like."

Jared feels his whole face warm with the way he smiles at Jensen. "Yes," he says. "I’d like that very much."

Check out yuan-fen's [amazing art post](http://yuan-fen.livejournal.com/4506.html) with beautiful scene illustrations. 


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